A SPACE: ABOVE AND BEYOND Story
by Dora Shelton
Disclaimer: SPACE: ABOVE AND BEYOND, its characters and devices, are the property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight Productions, and Fox Entertainment. While no permission has been granted to use these characters and devices, this is a work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE by Anne Rice is mentioned but not quoted. Comments are welcome and may be sent to Dora Shelton at [email protected]. Enjoy!
Reveille sounded at 0430 hours. Heather crawled out of her bunk and dressed in her blue jumpsuit. The only designators on the uniform were the patch of the USS Saratoga and her last name, "Scott," embroidered on the front left chest. So boring, these civilian flight crew uniforms, compared to the Marines, with all their patches. But, they had the colorful job too, didn't they? Ready, she headed toward the flight deck.
It was not far from the barracks to the flight deck, but half asleep it felt like miles. Today there was no special briefing regarding flight preparations, so the crew would make ready for routine patrol flights. Heather wasted no time on entering the flight deck, moving directly to her duties. Everything had to be ready when the pilots arrived at 0530 hours.
*****
At 0530 hours, the 58th entered the flight deck. As they entered, Col. McQueen caught their attention. "Five-eight, listen up. I know that it's been two weeks since your last meeting with the Chigs. Don't get too relaxed. They are out there, we just aren't sure where, so watch your six!" He looked at Vansen. Meeting her eye he nodded, a silent message asking her to look to the safety of the others.
Vansen met his look, returning his nod. Looking at the others she set them into motion. "OK, lets do it!" She turned and headed toward her cockpit, as each of the others did the same.
Heather approached the cockpit as Vansen took her place and began to secure herself. Heather helped Vansen adjust her helmet, watching her run through her pre-flight check at the same time. As Heather double checked the oxygen flow and a dozen other minor items, she asked, "Check OK?"
Vansen answered, "Check OK, clear to go."
As Vansen began to close her hatch, she heard Heather tell her, "Return safely, Captain." Vansen looked up to meet Heather's gaze. She was immediately suspicious, finding it unusual for a member of the flight crew to speak with her. She looked for some sarcasm or hidden meaning in the words, or in Heather's manner. Finding none, she realized that they were only well-meaning words of encouragement. She nodded her acknowledgment as Heather moved to clear from the flight deck.
Her work complete for now, Heather watched from a corner as each cockpit was lowered. She knew that the others of her crew were filing out of the area toward other duties, but Heather always stayed a few seconds longer, until she could feel the changes below her, as the hammerheads left the Saratoga.
With other duties to occupy her until 0930 hours when the patrolling squadrons were expected to return, Heather turned to leave the area. As she left, she noted that she was not the last to leave. Col. McQueen was just leaving as well.
*****
As Heather waited for the return of the 58th from patrol duty, she thought about her decision to become involved in the war and her recent experiences onboard. She had entered flight crew training hoping for assignment to the USS Capistrano. Her husband, also a Marine pilot, was assigned to that ship. They were married two weeks prior to his unit being shipped out to fight the Chigs. At the end of her training she submitted a special request to go to the Capistrano, but there were no positions available on that ship. She was assigned the Saratoga, and although disappointed, she had heard that it was an excellent assignment. She had only been with the civilian flight crews onboard the Saratoga for about two months, but so far she had no complaints.
In those two months, her duties tended to rotate, so she learned the habits of different crews. She had encountered several pilot squadrons, but none were like the 58th, who she found impressive. They were proud, but without the over burdening egos of so many other squadrons. They were a bonded group of individuals, rather than a group of people all from the same mold. When the opening for a permanent position on the 58th's crew came open, she immediately applied for a transfer to the position, not really expecting to get it. Just yesterday she learned that she would be assigned to the crew next week.
No problems were reported to the flight crew prior to the return of the squadrons, so tensions were not high when the 58th arrived. By the time Heather approached Vansen, her helmet was off. She handed it to Heather, who took it and stepped back to give Vansen room to get to her feet. Knowing that the pilots rarely stood by long enough to tell the crew what repairs to start, Heather made a point of asking if problems were encountered. She kneeled down, placing the helmet in the seat of the cockpit and asked before Vansen could move away, "Any problems, Captain?"
Vansen stopped a few paces away and turned. "Nothing wrong." Her tone was even, but she had a suspicious look in her eye. Heather had no time to spend on setting her mind at ease, so she simply nodded before looking around to see who might need assistance. Seeing another crew member moving some equipment, Heather rose to her feet and went to help.
Vansen watched her go, wondering why she did not remember encountering this crewman before. She still questioned her openness, but saw her efficiency. There were more important matters to attend to, so she pushed the matter to the back of her mind. She turned to the flight deck entrance, knowing that Col. McQueen would be waiting for them. Seeing that the others were already gathered around him, she went to She felt that if you do not know yourself, you are incapable of truly knowing others. Rob never understood this, but then he was not the introspective type. Over the years, she found that she could learn much about people just by spending time watching them. She also learned much about herself this way, through comparing herself with others.
She looked around the tavern, noting three civilians she did not recognize at a table drinking beer. West and Wang were engaged in their weekly game of foosball. It was the same each time they played, because no matter who won, the other was accused of cheating. They would get angry and sit for awhile, not speaking until after the others arrived. Unless they could get Hawkes to play, in which case they would gang up on him, making him mad. Heather smiled, thinking what little boys men could really be.
Tonight, Wang was the winner and West stormed off to sit alone at a table. Wang threw his hands in the air, walking in a circle. "Aw, come on West, you cant do this to me. I'm on a winning streak." Looking at West, who refused to meet his eyes, he threw up his hands again in resignation, looking at the ceiling. He knew better than to push West when he was in such a mood, so he went to sit with him, slowly drawing conversation from him. Everything would be fine if he could get him to talk.
Heather caught movement in the corner of her eye and turned to see Vansen and Hawkes enter. Hawkes joined the others, while Vansen sat on a stool and ordered a beer. She looked around the room until she saw Heather. She picked up the beer and crossed the room, stopping at the table. Heather looked up, and Vansen asked, "Mind if I join you?"
Heather answered, "Not at all," waving her hand toward the chair across the table from her. She had never met Vansen and had only dealt with her on the flight deck. Even so, she had watched Vansen enough to realize that they were alike in several ways. As Vansen sat down, Heather could see that Damphousse had joined the others and they were all looking in Vansen's direction, obviously curious. Heather looked back at Vansen, waiting.
Vansen looked down at her glass, then back up at Heather. She cocked her head to one side and asked, "I've been watching you since you stood by for me on one of our missions a few days ago." She shifted in her chair, seeming unsure how to continue.
"And you were wondering if I treat you, or others of the squadron as I do because I want something?" Heather thought that it would allow Vansen to relax if she asked the question which was so obviously on her mind. Heather preferred for people to be direct with her, but she also understood how difficult that could be in some situations.
Vansen was not expecting such directness, but she recovered quickly. "Exactly."
Heather smiled and sipped her drink. "Captain, my job here is to help on the flight line however I can. I don't know what needs to be done unless I am told, and I find that I get more information about problems encountered when I ask." She set down her glass and leaned her arms on the table. "I don't want anything but to get the job done right." She waited for Vansen's reaction to this.
Vansen thought about the answer, but was not completely satisfied. She felt she should continue the directness begun by Heather. "None of the other members of the flight crew even speak to us. They seem too intimidated." She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes slightly before finishing. "Why aren't you intimidated?"
Heather laughed outright at Vansen's distrust, which she understood only too well. "My husband is a fighter pilot for the 142nd onboard the Capistrano. I'm afraid that because of that fact, Marine pilots just don't intimidate me. Good or bad, that's just how it is!" She smiled and laughed, seeing the obvious relief on Vansen's face. "Besides, I need to that trust in order to get the information I need to do my job. I have been permanently assigned to your flight crew starting Sunday and I don't want my job to be any harder than it has to be."
Vansen smiled a mischievous smile, leaning forward to place her arms on the table in front of her. "I think I understand now. I didn't mean to seem rude, it's just that someone always wants something, you know?"
"It's OK, Captain." Heather looked toward the rest of the 58th, noting that they were still watching her and Vansen. She also noticed that Col. McQueen had entered the room and was sitting at the bar, away from the others. He was watching the 58th watch Vansen, then turned to watch as well. She fought the urge to laugh. "I think that you are going to be expected to report this entire conversation."
She sipped her drink as Vansen turned to watch the others. She turned to Heather and rolled her eyes. "I think they will just have to wonder about this one for awhile." She finished her beer and stood up. With a devious smile she said, "See you on the flight deck, Scott."
Heather looked down at her drink and replied, "That you will, Captain." She was still fighting back laughter. She looked up and watched as Vansen walked straight to the door of the tavern, giving the others an irritated glance. Hawkes sat up straight in his seat, as he watched her walk out the door. He glanced at Heather, as they all did. It was obvious they wanted to know what passed between Heather and Vansen, but after a while, they lost interest and returned to their conversation.
Heather finished her drink and decided that it was time to go back to the barracks. They likely would be empty since tonight was the big poker game with another civilian crew. She stood up and headed for the door and nobody even noticed as she left. Nobody except Col. McQueen.
As she returned to the barracks, Heather thought that of all the members of the 58th, she was most drawn to Vansen, Hawkes and McQueen. She saw in Vansen an inner strength that combined with, and sometimes hid, a big heart. She felt that she and Vansen had much in common.
She always had to smile when she thought of Hawkes. At first she had trouble understanding him. The actions and moods he displayed were confusing, until one day she realized that he still saw the world through the eyes of a child. This realization came one morning on the flight deck when she was assisting him prior to a flight.
As she held his helmet, waiting for him to get settled into the cockpit, she felt the back of the inner seal of the helmet was damaged. She looked at it quickly, knowing that a good seal was required for proper oxygen flow. Seeing that the helmet was not damaged, but had been cut, she realized that he was In Vitro. He had cut the seal himself in order to ensure a proper fit. She knelt down to help him with the helmet, and noticed a cautious look on his face. She smiled and helped him with the helmet, tilting it back prior to closing it to ensure a good seal. "Seal OK?" she asked.
He replied by asking, "How did you know it wasn't damaged?"
Heather replied, "A friend at home cut the same notch into his motorcycle helmet. Check OK?"
Realizing he had not run his preflight check, Hawkes quickly stepped through it. "OK." He looked back at Heather with a curious expression.
She could tell that he had questions, but now was not the time. "Maybe someday we will talk about it, Lt. Right now, you have Chigs to chase!" Tapping the top of his helmet, Heather moved away to complete other duties.
They had never had any discussion other than the short phrases spoken during flight preparations, but since that day, Heather was no longer perplexed by Hawkes' behavior. In fact, she enjoyed watching him most. It was obvious that he saw life as a child sees it, with all the wonder and curiosity that is lost in the cynicism that our life experiences bring. She felt that if more adults had such a view of life, they would not miss so much of what went on around them. She certainly wished she had the ability to see life in such a way. She made a point of watching as he made discoveries and tried to learn from watching his experiences what she could no longer learn from her own.
Col. McQueen was quite another matter. He was surrounded by a self imposed distance and a natural mystery. He always set himself apart from everyone else, yet watched everything and everyone, no matter how insignificant. Heather had even looked up while working on occasion to see him watching her. He looked after the 58th but did not often interfere with their daily interactions. At times she was witness to his scolding them, like an angry father, leaving them to correct their behavior. Yet it was more than obvious that McQueen was their commanding officer. He never crossed the line of over familiarity in the presence of others.
The distance he exhibited could be easily explained by the fact that he is In Vitro. He had surely experienced the hard knocks life deals to those who are different. But the mystery was due to more than the manner of his "birth." In spite of the whole In Vitro system, he had led a successful career, as few did. She realized that he was very complex and she felt a special need to try to understand him more than the others, partly because she found him difficult to read. There was just too much beneath the surface to ignore. Yet, she knew that he would never allow her too close.
There was also an attraction to him that surprised and frightened her. She saw in him a inner strength that she had never seen in anyone before. This strength explained the stories told about him, and his risking his life to defeat the Chig "Red Baron." She also saw a rare determination found only in those who have found a purpose and direction in life. Nobody had ever been so magnetic to her. Heather was able to push away these thoughts since her only contact with him was minimal, never having spoken with him. It was easy for her to keep these feelings at bay, and it was enough for her to watch and learn. Her fascination was enough.
As she entered the barracks, Heather felt very tired. This was one occasion when she did not spend time laying awake, thinking about Rob. She was asleep as soon as she placed her head on the pillow.
*****
The pilots had returned from patrol two hours earlier. The flight crew had finished their duties, but Heather remained behind. She had been meaning to clean the area, but had not been able to break away earlier to do it. With nobody else around, she felt she could get more accomplished. She swung the mop back and forth across the floor, taking a small step backward with each swipe of the mop. She was about half finished with the entire flight deck in half the time it would normally take.
Suddenly she bumped into something, where there should have been nothing. She stopped and turned around, just as Nathan West turned to see what had bumped him. Seeing the annoyed look on his face, Heather stepped away.
"Sorry Lt. I didn't realize there was anyone else here."
As she resumed her mopping, West asked, "Since you are here, would you help me remove the hatch for some maintenance work?"
She was surprised by the request, since he never asked for help from her crew. She turned back toward him, noticing that he was uncomfortable in having to request help from her since no other members of the 58th were there. As she started to answer him, he thrust a tool into her hand. She looked up at West, who looked down quickly as if embarrassed. When he looked up again, she flashed him a devious smile, and pushed the mop handle toward him, so that he caught it as it bounced off his chest. "Sure, Lt. Just as long as you help me mop the floor when we are finished. You do make part of the mess, after all!"
West stood staring at the mop handle in his hand in horror. After a few seconds, he looked up at Heather. She could was overcome with the look of panic in his face and burst out laughing. She took advantage of his shock, to push the issue a bit farther, asking, "What's wrong, Lt.? You do know how to use a mop don't you?"
As West stood there speechless, Heather saw movement from the corner of her eye. Someone had entered the flight deck. Not wishing to make matters worse by embarrassing him in front of anyone, she knelt down next to West's cockpit. Trying to hold back her laughter she asked quietly, "Don't you think a better tool will be needed to remove the hatch than that mop?"
He quickly glanced at the mop handle in his hand, looking even more panicked. Letting go, he watched it fall to the floor. He stared at the mop, jumping slightly when he heard a second, more familiar female voice. "Is there a problem, West?"
He turned to face Vansen with the same startled look. "No. No problem." He quickly glanced at Heather, "I think." Vansen flashed Heather an amused look, as she turned and walked toward her own cockpit.
Heather began working on the hatch of West's cockpit to hide her laughter. West recovered and completed his maintenance with her help, and without ever looking at her.
When finished, West sat back on his heels and finally looked at Heather. His discomfort was obvious. She stood and retrieved her mop from the flight deck floor. West looked at the mop, then looked questioningly at Heather. Smiling, she assured him, "Don't worry Lt. West, I won't hold you to the deal." An undisguised look of relief washed over his face, and she laughed quietly as she began mopping where she had left off.
West joined Vansen at her cockpit, and they left the flight deck together a few minutes later.
*****
Friday night, Heather went to Tun Tavern. She was supposed to meet some of her crew mates there later, and wanted to spend some time alone there before they arrived. It was always quiet in the tavern early in the evening, giving her time to get settled and watch people as they arrived without being noticed. She took her glass of bourbon to a table in the back of the tavern, where she sat with her back to the wall. She always tried to get this table when it was available, because it was inconspicuous, and had a good view of the rest of the room.
She thought about Rob tonight, but she was not comforted by her thoughts. She realized that she had started thinking about him less, and worried that things might be changing between them. Or at least changing for her. She closed her eyes, becoming lost in thought.
She opened her eyes to find someone standing across the table from her. She looked up to find Vansen looking down at her with her head cocked to one side, with a concerned look on her face.
Heather smiled and said, "Don't just stand there, Shane, sit down."
As Vansen sat down, Heather saw Col. McQueen sitting at the bar, looking at them. Vansen's expression never changed and she asked, "Is everything OK?"
Heather smiled sadly. "Just thinking. It seems that I do that too much lately."
Vansen looked into her beer. "I hear that!" Looking up, she had an amused look. "Speaking of thinking a lot, I have to tell you that I have thought a lot about that stunt you pulled last week. I have never seen anyone leave West speechless, until I saw your trick with the mop. But it would have been even better to see him mopping the floor."
Heather laughed. "It's an art that few perfect. But I couldn't add insult to injury. He seems too proud to mop." The sight of West humbly mopping the flight deck floor flashed through her mind, and made her giggle. "It would have been something though, wouldn't it?"
"Sure would." Vansen was beginning to relax around Heather. They had run into each other in some of the public areas of the ship several times over the last month and had slowly opened up to each other. They talked of small things, getting to know each other and were finally on a first name basis. This slowly led to deeper, more personal subjects. They seemed to have an instinctive understanding of each other.
Heather looked over Vansen's shoulder and noticed that Col. McQueen was still watching them. She leaned forward toward Vansen on the other side of the table. "Your Colonel finds it interesting that we are sitting here talking. Maybe we should invite him over." She smiled as she sipped her bourbon and peeked over Vansen's shoulder.
Vansen grinned. She was getting used to Heather's joking remarks that always sounded serious. "McQueen?"
"Yup!" Heather cocked her head to one side, suddenly very serious. "What is he like?"
Vansen sat back, looking into her beer, thinking about the question. How can anyone explain Col. McQueen? And if you were to try, she thought, where would you begin? "That's tough to answer. He's cranky, but I respect him, as an officer and an outstanding pilot. I can tell that he cares about us, but he is a very private person, and he doesn't let us get too close. I really don't know how to answer you with more than that."
Heather nodded, expecting as much. "He is hard for me to figure out. I find him...." Heather paused to gauge her answer, not wanting to seem too direct on this issue. "Fascinating is the only word I can find to describe it. I want to figure him out, get to know him, because he is a challenge. But I'm afraid to try, you know?"
Vansen smiled, "I know exactly what you mean. There is a magnetism that effects everyone differently, that you can't really explain. It either attracts you or repels you, nothing in between. I stopped trying to figure it out and just accept it. He is the commanding officer of the 58th, and we would follow him to hell and back. Each of us would lay down our lives for him without question. What else can I say?"
Heather nodded, understanding Vansen's view as she had understood hers without going into unnecessary detail.
Damphousse entered the tavern. She saw Vansen, and headed that direction. She pulled a chair up to a third side of the small table for two. She smiled at Heather and said, "Hey, Heather, how's it going?"
"Good, Vanessa. But you know, same thing, different day!"
Heather and Damphousse, like Heather and Vansen, were on a first name basis. They got along well, but the relationship was not the same as with Vansen. With Damphousse, it was social. With Vansen, a friendship had developed.
"Hey, Shane, Coop is looking for you. And look out, he's in a mood." Damphousse said this to Vansen with a look of warning.
"Aw, now what? Did he get into another fight with West?" She set down her beer, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her. Thinking about their childish bickering, Vansen sat frowning.
"I don't know, but he will likely be here soon. He was heading for the flight deck looking for you. I didn't tell him where you were, wanted to warn you first." She knew that Vansen would straighten Hawkes out when he found her. She always did. The only two who could handle him were Vansen and McQueen.
"Thanks. Just what I need, Hawkes making another scene in front of the Colonel." Vansen sat forward, playing with her glass. Damphousse turned her attention to Heather, letting Vansen brood. After a few minutes, Vansen stood up. "I'm going to find him. I don't want him to pull anything in front of McQueen. Last time the Colonel was really pissed off."
As Vansen left the tavern, Wang walked in. They spoke in the doorway for a minute, then went separate ways. Wang saw Damphousse and smiled, walking toward the table. "Mind if I join you ladies?"
"Not at all," both answered him in stereo, then laughed. Small talk with Wang and Damphousse was easy for Heather. They could spend a long time talking about absolutely nothing.
Later, a few of Heather's crew mates entered the tavern. They waved at her and took a table across the room. As she waved back at them, she realized that this was not the first time that she was with some of the 58th and encountered members of her crew. They never approached her at these times, but would sit across the room. When she eventually joined them, they never brought up her relationship with the Marines. She wondered what they really thought, but figured that they must not disapprove, since they never mentioned it. She said goodnight to Wang and Vanessa, and joined her crew mates.
Col. McQueen watched as Heather moved across the room. He shifted around to face the bar. When he finished his beer, he left the tavern, on his way to meet with Commodore Ross.
*****
"Ty, I don't see why you are so concerned with this. You should be glad that there are friendships out there to be made by these kids, besides with each other. You are being too protective of the 58th since they returned to the Saratoga after being stranded on Demios." Commodore Ross knew that Col. McQueen had the squadron's interest at heart. He also knew that he still blamed them both for leaving the 58th stranded for two months on the planet, while they left to engage in the offensive against the Chigs after the loss of the Eisenhower. With that in mind, he could not bring himself to be hard on Col. McQueen in this matter.
McQueen stood in the Commodore's quarters with his hands behind his back. "Commodore, I simply want to be sure that the relationship with the civilian flight crewman is not going to interfere with their performance. She has been assigned to the 58th's flight crew for only a short time, and has been spending a lot of time with my Marines. I want possible problems stopped before they surface, and I don't want to have to approach the civilian supervisor to get her history." He looked down toward the floor before continuing. "I'm just looking out for them."
Ross smiled and sat down at his desk. "You need to let them look after themselves, Ty. You have nothing to make up for."
McQueen looked up quickly, a guarded look in his eye. He looked away to the side and replied, "But I do, sir." He looked back to Ross, this time with determination, "And you know I do."
Ross sighed, knowing that he could not argue this point with McQueen because it would do no good. He knew McQueen would never back down, and Ross still felt his own guilt sharply. To give in to McQueen in small matters like this was not difficult. "All right, what is the crewman's name?"
"Heather Scott."
Ross sat back, elbow on the armrest of his chair, chin resting in his hand. Obvious recognizing the name, he replied, "Interesting."
"You know her, sir?"
Ross stood and walked to the port. Looking out into space, he answered, "I know of her." Smiling to himself, he turned back to McQueen. "She requested transfer from the relief unit to the crew assigned to the 58th as soon as the position came open. She was not senior, in fact had only two months of duty under her belt at the time. She had proven more capable than most seasoned flight crew members, so she got the job." He turned back to the port. "I reviewed her record myself at the time she was recommended to receive the assignment over several others who were more experienced. Her history is interesting, but nothing to worry about, I assure you."
McQueen was not satisfied. "What is her history, sir?"
Ross turned to look at McQueen, then returned to his desk. Pouring both of them a drink, he handed one to McQueen. "Sit down, Ty." Both men sat and McQueen waited expectantly, knowing that Ross would give him the information that he requested.
Ross held up the glass, looking at it in the light. He sat it down on the desk, and looked at McQueen. "Her husband is Lt. Robert Scott of the 142nd Marines assigned to the USS Capistrano. He is a good pilot, I understand. They were only married two weeks when he was shipped out and Heather went into flight crew training without ever telling him. She wanted an assignment to the Capistrano, but drew the Saratoga instead. She was top in her class, and the only new recruit we had drawn since the war started. We normally pull only experienced crewmen. She is good Ty."
"I know she is good, Glenn. I have seen her work and have no complaints there. My concern is if she is good for the 58th. They don't need to be distracted from their duties." McQueen's familiarity toward the Commodore was proof of his concern.
Ross smiled. "Let the relationship go. A little distraction may be good for them. If there are problems, she can be moved." He sat back thinking. "It is odd, though, that she has never requested a transfer to the Capistrano since her assignment with us." He looked at McQueen and added, "I would hate to lose her."
McQueen understood the warning not to interfere. When he considered it, she was one of the best flight crewmen assigned his deck. Besides, Ross might be right, maybe she would be a helpful distraction, not a harmful one. "So would I, Commodore, if she turns out to be good for those kids."
*****
Heather was finished with duties for the day. She sat on her bunk, reading an old book. She found that there was a rash of good writing about 100 years earlier. She was enthralled in her latest acquisition, INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE, and considered this particular writer wonderful. She had heard that there was a film made of the book. She looked forward to seeing it.
She leaned forward on the bunk, intent, when a shadow fell over the page. One of her crew mates, Jonathan, yelled into the barracks, "Mail shipment just arrived." Heather looked up. Setting the book aside, she grabbed her boots and quickly put them on. As she entered the hallway, she fell into the flow that moved toward the flight deck holding the transport ship carrying the mail.
On entering the flight deck, she saw a group of civilians off to the left. She joined them and heard her name called after about five minutes. When she answered, she was handed a bundle of 5 letters. Looking through them, four were from Rob, one was from the Marines Corps. She stuck the bundle into her pocket and headed back to the barracks.
*****
The letters from Rob were routine. He had a recent encounter with a Chig squadron had bagged another craft kill. He always referred to killing the craft rather than the pilot in it. It was a matter of propriety with him. He passed on news from the squadron and told her he missed her. The last letter was dated two weeks earlier.
Heather stared at the open letter from the Marine Corps laying open on her bed, tears rolling down her face. Her back against the wall, knees to her chest and arms wrapped tightly around her legs, she tried to stop the tears before the others came back. The words from the letter echoing around in her head:
"Dear Mrs. Scott,
We are sorry to inform you of the death of your husband...."
The soft, perfect etiquette of the rest of the letter did not lessen the blow of the first line. They certainly lost no time in delivering that line, she thought. It went on to explain that the Capistrano had encountered numerous Chig squadrons and Rob was shot down while engaging them. The letter told of what a fine officer he had been, all those things meant to comfort you in the memory of the dead. But Heather found no comfort in the words. Only the realization that he was killed the day after sending his last letter.
In fact, after the first blow had its impact, she felt nothing, only numbness. And loss. She suddenly felt completely and totally alone, a feeling she had never in her life experienced. She didn't even know that the tears still poured down her face.
*****
Vansen sought out the flight crew supervisor. She had not seen Heather on the flight line, or anywhere else for that matter, in five days. Finally, a crewman directed her to a tall blonde man standing with his back to her.
"Mr. Wallace." Vansen called to him while still approaching him. She was not going to let him get away again. She had been chasing around, searching for him for an hour. Wallace turned to see who was calling him. "Yes, Captain?" he said impatiently. Just what I need, he thought, another complaint about some trivial nothing.
Vansen eyed him, not knowing what provoked his tone. "Where is Heather Scott? I have not seen her for almost a week." She immediately noticed that he became more tense, looking around at the other crewmen who were near. She saw that they all looked at each other cautiously.
Wallace held a hand in the direction of an empty platform off to the right. "Please, Captain, lets speak over here." He touched her on the arm as if to direct her movement in that direction. The walked several paces before he began speaking. He quietly explained that Heather was off duty for a few days, as her husband had been killed in the line of duty.
He watched Vansen as this information was understood. He saw the questioning look on her face as she stopped walking and stared at him. Then he saw the anger begin to set in, as she wondered why she had not been told sooner. He did not want to give her the opportunity to dress him down, so he began speaking again. "I know that you are Scott's friend. You would have been informed sooner, however, she specifically requested that nobody else be told. She wanted to settle the matter in her own mind before having to deal with anyone else. I felt that I must respect her wishes. She moved temporarily into separate quarters for one week."
Wallace slowly looked around the room, at the other workers as he spoke. Many of these people had expressed concern over her seclusion, feeling that it was not good for her to be alone at such a time. He agreed with them at first, so he had visited Heather daily. But what he saw was not someone in a deep secluded depression. He saw a strong willed person settling her personal affairs in the quiet necessary to accomplish such matters. He was amazed at the strength he saw grow in her every day. Wallace looked at Vansen and continued. "I can assure you, Captain, that Scott is handling this very well. She will be moving back into the barracks tomorrow. Maybe you could visit her then."
He waited, looking at Vansen expectantly. She tilted her head and demanded to know the location of the quarters where Heather was staying. Wallace sighed, expecting this request. He gave her the location and watched as she left the flight deck.
Vansen went directly to the quarters where Heather was housed, knocking on the hatch loudly. She heard the familiar voice on the other side. "Enter."
Vansen entered the quarters, finding Heather seated at a table going through a pile of paperwork. Heather looked up and smiled sadly. "Hey, Shane, pull up a chair."
Vansen sat at the table and looked over the paperwork. Insurance, joint property holdings, family stuff. She then looked at Heather, who had sat back to watch her, judging her reaction. "I just heard." She looked at Heather, wondering what to say. "I'm sorry to hear what happened to Rob." What else was there to say?
Heather smiled, "Thanks." She leaned her arms onto the surface of the table and sighed. "I got five letters when the mail came. Four from Rob and one from the Corps. Luckily, I read the ones from Rob first." Her eyes misted over, as she looked down at the table. "God, Shane it hurts, you know? But I keep telling myself that I am lucky that we were not married longer, because then it would hurt even more. " She looked up, tears rolling down her face. "Once it sank in, I felt so lost. He was the only family that I had, since my parents died several years ago."
Vansen leaned forward and reached across the table, placing her hand on top of Heather's. "He's not all you have, you know. You have friends who will be your family. You have me and you have Hawkes." Thinking a moment, she continued. "Coop found a family in the 58th. You will find your family in all your friends now, too" She smiled, tipping her head to look up under Heather's hair hanging down in her face, into the eyes that were starting to dry again. "I would have been here, you know that. I just don't understand why you shut me out."
Heather looked up at Vansen, not realizing that she had hurt her by excluding her from the pain she felt herself. "I had to deal with this alone, Shane. I had to build my strength and deal with my own issues before I could deal with anyone else. I hope you can understand."
Vansen smiled. "I do, but I still wish you had come to me."
Heather nodded. "Well, tomorrow I move back to the barracks, and the next day it's back to work, trying to get back in the swing of things then. I will probably rely on you a lot soon enough. " She wanted to change the subject, but knew that Vansen was only setting her own mind at ease over the situation. "How long do you think it will be until the final papers arrive from the Corps?"
Vansen thought a minute. "Well, when Neil West was killed, I think the flag and papers were delivered to his parents about a month later. I will find out and let you know." She stood, satisfied that Heather was going to come through this OK. "You know where to find me. Otherwise, I will see you in a couple of days." She put her hand on Heather's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, then left.
As the hatch closed, Heather sat back, thinking. She realized that everything was going to be all right at that moment.
*****
Vansen rarely sought out Col. McQueen, and never went looking for Commodore Ross. But she wanted their input and would need their permission to do what she wanted to do. Her idea was not in accordance with normal military procedure, but it was something that she felt was important, and she hoped that they would allow it.
She learned from the bridge security officer that they were together in the Commodore's quarters so she headed there. Now, standing outside the door, she felt nervous. Taking a deep breath, she pounded on the hatch. She waited to hear a reply from the other side, but instead the hatch opened. Commodore Ross was startled to see her there. Inside, she could see Col. McQueen sitting on the far side of a desk. He saw her and immediately stood, with a worried look.
"Captain, this is an unexpected visit."
Vansen took a deep breath and plunged in. "Yes, sir. I was hoping to have a word with you and Col. McQueen, sir." She waited as they exchanged concerned looks with each other.
Ross looked back at Vansen and stepped aside. "Of course, Captain. Enter. It must be important or you would not be here."
Vansen nodded and entered the Commodore's quarters. The hatch boomed closed behind her.
*****
Two weeks passed. Heather appeared to have recovered from the shock of Rob's death, and worked as hard as ever. She was replacing worn hydraulic lines when Wallace approached her.
"Scott, I received word that you are to meet with Commodore Ross on the flight deck tomorrow at 0800 hours." Wallace reached up and patted her on the shoulder with a sad smile. "It appears that the burial flag has arrived and there is some formal presentation that is made in delivering it. Military funeral protocol, which requires non uniform dress. You can take the rest of the day if you wish."
Heather nodded. God, she thought, what morbid speech will she have to listen to just to be handed a flag?
*****
A Marine security officer arrived at the barracks in dress uniform at 0745 hours to escort Heather to the flight deck. She thought nothing of it, thinking it routine.
She had dressed in a simple short, black dress. She had few civilian clothes onboard, since she never needed them, but she was relieved that she had this dress along. It was plain, but could be dressed up for formal parties, if there were ever a need for her to attend one. Today, however, it was just a plain black dress on a widow going to her husbands funeral.
She walked down the long corridor with the Marine. She looked over at him, so stiff and formal. And so young. She wondered what he thought of all this. Did he worry about his family going through something like this someday?
At the entrance to the flight deck, he stopped and tapped the hatch three times. He turned to face the opposite wall as the hatch was opened from the inside. There she saw another single Marine in dress uniform, holding the hatch open for her to enter. As she stepped inside, she looked at him.
Before she could turn, she heard Col. McQueen's voice. "Mrs. Scott. Please allow me." She turned to see him holding his arm out to her formally. As she took his arm, she felt lost. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to see the 58th lined up at the far end of the flight deck in full dress uniform. She looked back at McQueen, who could feel her hand shaking on his arm. He realized that she had no idea what was going on.
As he began walking across the deck slowly with her in tow, he quietly explained. "Normal military protocol is to have a single Marine deliver the burial flag to the family. " He looked at her and smiled. "The 58th, however, requested a special ceremonial transfer of the flag. They felt that it was more appropriate if the flag would be delivered by those closest to you, wanting it to be a *family* ceremony." His stress on the word family, caused her to stop walking.
Heather quickly looked at McQueen, who had returned to his normal serious expression. Recovering quickly, she began walking with him again. She could not tell if he approved of this, but it clearly was something out of the ordinary.
McQueen finally looked at her as they neared the line of Marines. "We gave our approval. I hope you don't mind."
They stopped about ten paces short of the line. Heather's eyes began to mist. "How could I mind, Colonel?" She placed her other hand on his arm she held and squeezed it. "Thank you."
He smiled as he stepped back and moved off to the left.
At the same time McQueen stepped away, Commodore Ross approached her and gave her a few words of encouragement. He expressed his hope that she would decide to remain with them, because she was needed onboard. He added that this need stemmed not just from her work, but from her relationships as well.
Ross stepped away from her, moving to stand in front of Vansen, a short distance off to her right. McQueen stepped forward and stood two paces Vansen to her left, directly across from Ross. Vansen was in the center of the five members of the 58th, lined up before Heather. West and Wang, at either end of the line, each took one step forward. They turned to face each other and advanced until they met in front of Vansen. They then turned, went between Ross and McQueen and two paces past, then stopped. They then faced each other and stepped back. Once in line with Ross and McQueen, Damphousse and Hawkes on either side of Vansen took one step forward. They repeated the actions of West and Wang, falling in line two paces away from each.
Heather saw all of this through the mist in her eyes. She now looked down the short corridor of uniforms at Vansen, standing at attention at the other end. The officer who had admitted Heather to the flight deck approached Vansen from her right, carrying a folded United States flag. It sat in his open, outstretched palms. He stopped, holding the flag directly in front of Vansen. She took the flag from his hands and he seemed to fade away to Heather. She saw Vansen look down at the flag, then up at Heather. Vansen slowly advanced down the corridor of uniforms, stopping in front of Heather.
The words were spoken slowly but sincerely. "We present this flag in honor of those fallen in this war. They are our brothers in arms, our fallen family. We protect and accept the life they leave behind as our own. Accept this token in the spirit in which it is offered and let the spirit of life carry on in us all." Vansen held the flag out to Heather in her outstretched hands.
Heather looked at the flag and up at Vansen. "You did this for me?" She waited for an answer, but no words came, only a smile from Vansen, who nodded. Heather reached out and took the flag in her hands as a single tear rolled down her cheek.
She held the flag to her chest. At that moment she awoke to the fact that she had built a family around her and never realized it. She was never alone, and would never have to be. Then she stepped forward and hugged Vansen. She looked at Hawkes and Damphousse over Vansen's shoulder, then at the others beyond them, still clinging to Vansen. The 58th broke the line, and gathered around the two women as Heather released Vansen and stepped back.
THE END
Dora Shelton lives in California where she juggles a more than full time job as a law enforcement officer with graduate school, working on her masters degree. She enjoys reading authors like Rita Mae Brown and Anne Rice, and writing. One day, she would like to publish a serious writing effort other than a thesis.