Free Night Flight by Lindsay McKenna

in one of the pockets of his dark green flight suit. He saw Curt at the weather desk, Stang standing next to him.
    “She had the flu,” Curt lied.
    “Flu? In late September? That’s kind of early for it to be going around, isn’t it? Scotty hasn’t said anything about it at school, either.”
    Uncomfortable beneath Stang’s needling scrutiny, Curt took the weather information and turned away. Becky hated the luncheons, was always uncomfortable in large groups of people. She had called General Dalton’s wife and begged off with a case of flu. If she missed too many luncheons, it wouldn’t look good on his fitness report, which was issued every six months, but Curt didn’t have the heart to get angry about it. Becky was still under strain from this last move. He nearly ran into Holt.
    “Morning, Sam.”
    “Morning, Curt.”
    Stang turned, sizing up his competition. “How’d the balloon rally go, Holt? Did you come in dead last?”
    “You’re just a sunny spot in my morning, you know that, Jack?”
    He grinned. “Is my pessimism showing?”
    “No, your ignorance. I came in second out of twenty entries.” Sam turned, walking down the highly polished white tile hall, Curt at his shoulder. Merrill was chuckling under his breath.
    “Holt one, Stang nothing. Damn good thing you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this early in the morning,” Curt said, flashing him a grin, “because I never am.”
    “Stang doesn’t know when to ease off the throttles. How’s Becky doing?”
    Lowering his voice, Curt told Sam the truth.
    “Smart idea about the flu angle,” Sam said.
    “Yeah, with Stang snooping around, looking to heap any kind of gossip and trouble on my head, I had to think of something to cover for Becky,” Curt growled.
    “Hang in there, buddy, don’t let him get to you. Once he does, it’s all over,” Sam warned. He worried about Curt, who didn’t have a thick skin like he did. Stang was one of those people, who, if he didn’t stir up the pot on a daily basis, creating chaos and roller-coaster feelings among his compatriots, wasn’t happy. Of course, everyone else was unhappy when Stang did it, not totally immune to his sometimes lethal comments. Still, Sam felt as long as he dished it back at Stang just as strongly, he’d keep the pilot somewhat in check. Somewhat…
    They halted at the door that said Design, and entered. Sam spotted Major Lauren Porter at one desk leaning over a bunch of blueprints, cup of coffee in hand. She was dressed, as usual, in her olive-green flight suit and highly polished black flight boots. However, that didn’t detract from her femininity in Sam’s opinion. Lauren was elegant, like a thoroughbred with good breeding. She was tall, thin and refined. Unlike a lot of other women flight officers, she wore makeup when she wasn’t flying. Today, she didn’t, because she’d be in the cockpit with him later.
    They found out a long time ago that air would leak out between the oxygen mask on a woman’s face if she wore makeup. Already, his day was getting better. Sam raised a hand in her direction.
    “Morning, Port.” The last five months of working with the flight engineer had been pure joy in Sam’s opinion. She was their boss and headed up the Agile Eagle project. Chestnut hair, intelligent brown eyes and a computerlike brain plus Lauren’s good looks was an excellent combination. It didn’t hurt matters that Lauren preferred to fly with him, and gave him higher percentile marks for flight skills.
    “Hi, Sam, Curt.”
    Holt headed to the coffeemaker near her desk. It was only 7:00 a.m., but everyone in testing was hard at work. It was one of the few professions he could think of where the people involved hated to leave work at night and could hardly wait to get back to work early the next morning.
    “Well,” Lauren said, continuing to study the blueprints on the F-15 Eagle, “did you get lucky and run into Stang out at the weather