Ride the Thunder. Lindsay McKenna

what a story, Morgan! You two always seem to be where the action is.”

      Once out in the busy passageway, Morgan dropped his hand from her arm. She followed him down to the end of the corridor, where he pushed open the door. It was near dusk, about 1700, or 5:00 p.m. The sun was setting, the sky a blood-red color. That symbol wasn’t lost on Rhona. Her Indian heritage had taught her to read nature as a reflection of humankind. And right now, Los Angeles was hemorrhaging, as thousands of people lay dead or dying. Just the thought dampened her spirits.

      Morgan led her down another crowded passageway. “Believe me, this was one time that Laura and I weren’t looking for any action at all. I’d planned this little getaway for us some time ago, as a Christmas surprise for her.” Shaking his head as he opened the outer door and held it for Rhona, he muttered, “And here we thought we’d enjoy a nice, quiet five days away from my office and her demands, and just enjoy one another….”

      Rhona followed him down the metal-grate stairs to the lawn below. Although night was approaching rapidly, and the lights were on, Camp Reed was a beehive of nonstop activity. As they left the Logistics building, she could see the airport, and all the helicopters coming and going. She itched to get into the cockpit again and fly one of them. Watching her step, she hurried beside Morgan along a cracked sidewalk toward the hospital, which was about a quarter of a mile away.

      Rhona was in awe at how busy the whole place was. The airport was obviously too small for all the airplanes and helicopters that were crowding in there, bringing in lifesaving foodstuffs and medical help. The pilots must be exhausted. They had to be. The quake had struck seven days ago, and now, as the ongoing emergency only grew worse, they had to be running on frayed nerves and sheer guts and determination to reach helpless people who desperately needed the supplies they flew in.

      Hurrying to catch up with Morgan, Rhona carefully dodged jutting pieces of sidewalk shoved upward by the force of the quake. One wrong step and she’d trip and fall. Not that she hadn’t on the way here. She had. Many times.

      “I can hardly wait to see Laura!” she said enthusiastically as she finally came up beside him, eye-level with Morgan’s broad shoulders.

      “Laura is going to be overjoyed to see a familiar face,” he assured her genially. “Right now, I try to drop in and see her for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “And we’re right on time for dinner with her.”

      January 7: 1720

      Rhona opened her arms and gave Laura a gentle, careful embrace of welcome. She saw the little baby nestled in a crib on the other side of the raised bed, so that Laura could pick up the pink-wrapped infant whenever she wanted.

      Morgan ordered up three trays of food while the two women fussed over the sleeping infant.

      “She’s so cute,” Rhona told Laura in a soft voice as she peeked into the crib at the sleeping infant. Glancing up, she asked “Do you have a name for her?”

      Laura sighed and smiled. “No. Right now, she’s officially known as ‘baby Jane Fielding.’ We know her mother’s name was Fielding, but there was no identification on her body for her daughter.”

      Morgan came over and kissed his wife’s cheek. “I just got word about possible relatives, honey.”

      Laura brightened. “Oh, good. What did you find out?”

      “Well, checking on this is going very slowly because of the earthquake,” he cautioned. “Priority is being given to the rescue efforts here in the L.A. basin. But I found out that the mother was adopted herself. The FBI has come to a dead end, and now they’re searching for the mother’s adoptive parents.”

      Rhona smiled softly at Laura. “I’m sorry the baby’s mother died, but this little girl has the best of all worlds right now. She has you, Laura.” Rhona looked at Morgan, who stood by his wife’s bedside, his arm around her blue-gowned shoulders. “And you, Morgan. I wonder if you help change diapers?” She chuckled.

      Giggling, Laura said, “Oh, yes, he does.” She patted the box of diapers on the bedstand. “He’s got lots of time in grade doing this for our own foursome over the years.”

      Just then an orderly in white wheeled in a cart with three dinner trays. He was small, with short-cropped blond hair and hazel eyes. His smile was infectious as he pulled up to Laura’s bedside and said hello.

      Rhona felt her stomach grumble. She realized how hungry she was. Nibbling on granola bars was okay, but when the orderly handed her an aluminum tray bearing a hamburger, steamed rice and broccoli, plus a dish of chocolate pudding, her mouth watered. Sitting down on a nearby chair, Rhona dove into the fare with gusto.

      “Thanks, Morgan,” she said between mouthfuls. “I’m starving!”

      Laura settled her own tray over her lap and took the utensils Morgan handed her. “So, you’re volunteering to fly here, Rhona? That’s wonderful.”

      “Yes,” Morgan said, making sure his wife was properly set up to eat before he settled down in a chair with his own tray. “And she walked twenty miles today from Bonsall to do it.”

      Eyes widening, Laura gave her a look of pure admiration. “That’s a lotta miles, Rhona. Aren’t you tired?”

      “Yes, I am.” Rhona looked toward the window, where the venetian blind was up so that they could see the airport. “But not as tired and exhausted as I know those pilots are.”

      “Well,” Laura murmured, pride in her voice, “we’re so lucky to have you here with us, Rhona. How many other people would do what you’ve done? Probably not many.”

      “It’s my Indian blood,” she murmured. “Indians are very conscientious about their community, and they pitch in to help when and where they can.”

      “I’m sure Lieutenant Nolan Galway is going to think you’re an angel come from heaven,” Morgan said. He put some ketchup on his hamburger, and then added mustard. “Right now, he can’t fly without a copilot. That’s a military rule. If something happened to him in the cockpit and he didn’t have a copilot to take over, the chopper would be lost. So—” he grinned and picked up the hamburger “—I’m sure he’s going to welcome you with open arms.”

      Rhona sighed. “I sure hope you’re right, Morgan. But I’m a woman. Ex-navy. This guy is a marine, and you know how they feel about any other military service—like we’re not worthy and all that macho bull.”

      Morgan eyed his chocolate pudding and decided to eat it next. “Hopefully, this guy isn’t like the infamous Neanderthals you had the bad luck to be with in your squadron.”

      “Time will tell,” Rhona murmured. As she continued to wolf down the hot, tasty food, she wondered about that. With a name like Galway, he had to be of Irish heritage. The fact that she was Scot and Navajo would make them mix like oil and water. Still, as she sat in the hospital room, with the sounds of helicopters and jet engines muffled by the brick walls, Rhona was excited. A part of her missed the military. Would this helicopter pilot be happy that she was now his partner and copilot? Rhona knew that in the coming weeks her life would not be her own. It would consist of flying the maximum hours allowed by aviation rules, dropping into exhausted sleep in a tent somewhere, and eating on the run as they jogged toward their cockpit. And all of it would be done with her partner, Lieutenant Nolan Galway. They’d do just about everything together—almost like being married, in a sense, because of the stresses and demands upon them to work as a close-knit team from dawn to dusk.

      What would be his reaction to her? Rhona wasn’t sure. In less than twelve hours, she’d find out.

      Two

      January 7: 1900

      Of all things…! Nolan thought, turning and glaring at his Huey helicopter. It was dark and the garish lights from the flight line starkly illuminated ten Hueys, neatly parked nose to tail as they were loaded with another round of cargo destined for the L.A. basin.

      Lieutenant