{"id":5250,"date":"2010-07-21T20:37:10","date_gmt":"2010-07-22T01:37:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/\/?p=5250"},"modified":"2010-07-21T20:37:10","modified_gmt":"2010-07-22T01:37:10","slug":"the-cool-woman-by-john-aubrey-anderson","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=5250","title":{"rendered":"The Cool Woman by John Aubrey Anderson"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a><\/strong><\/span> <\/strong> book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n


<\/p>\n

John Aubrey Anderson <\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

and the book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The Cool Woman <\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Fidelis (July 1, 2010)<\/p>\n

***Special thanks to Julie Gwinn, Trade Book Marketing, B&H Publishing Group for sending me a review copy.***<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>When I was eight years old, I saw Flying Tigers with John Wayne and knew I wanted to be a pilot. After graduating from Mississippi State University, I joined the Air Force. My career in the cockpit was nothing less than a thirty-five-year answer to a young boy\u2019s unspoken prayer. With three tours in Southeast Asia behind me, I left the Air Force to work for Delta Air Lines. I flew for Delta for twenty-eight years and retired from the cockpit in 1997.<\/p>\n

When I retired, I was a man who would rather be digging post holes with a popsickle stick than be trapped in a house. Then, in January of 2002, my wife watched God transform me into a man who hungers to hide in a room in front a computer monitor, trying to shape words into pictures.<\/p>\n

Abiding Darkness, Wedgewood Grey and And If I Die\u2014The Black or White Chronicles\u2014concerned themselves with spiritual warfare and fit well in the thriller\/suspense genre. The Cool Woman is an action\/adventure novel with a Viet Nam War setting; the protagonist is a cool and competent fighter pilot.<\/p>\n

Visit the author’s website<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\n<\/embed><\/object>\n<\/p>\n

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $14.99
\n Paperback: 352 pages
\n Publisher: Fidelis (July 1, 2010)
\n Language: English
\n ISBN-10: 0805464808
\n ISBN-13: 978-0805464801<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong>
\n <\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The rumor circulating in the snack bar Friday morning came straight from squadron operations.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Sixteen Air Force pilots, most of them in flightsuits, two or three in summer-weight tans, were clustered here and there around Orange Flight\u2019s briefing room. They were all watching the door and V debating quietly about the accuracy of what they\u2019d heard. The fact that their flight commander was ten minutes late for the morning briefing made the story more believable by the second.<\/p>\n

Second Lieutenant Warren F. Masland sat alone at a table in the back of the room. Masland was the most junior instructor in the flight. If the rumor proved true, the new instructor\u2019s career was going to end before it began.<\/p>\n

When the commander, Captain Frank W. Steadman, finally showed up, the pilots watched him shuffle into the room and step onto the dais in much the same way a condemned man might mount the guillotine\u2019s platform. He dropped a stack of paperwork on the lectern then flipped his notebook open and frowned at the first page while he pulled out a cigarette. The conversation groups broke up, and men drifted in Steadman\u2019s direction and began taking seats. The two officers nearest him spoke to their leader . . . he didn\u2019t respond. He got his cigarette going then tapped on the speaker\u2019s stand with his lighter. \u201cAt ease, guys. Let\u2019s get this over with.\u201d<\/p>\n

The two pilots Steadman snubbed kept their faces expressionless and cut their eyes at each other; the rumor was going to be true.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d Steadman had yet to look at his troops, \u201cwe\u2019ll divvy up the students first. After that, we\u2019ll play catch-up on paperwork and take a long weekend.\u201d<\/p>\n

Orange Flight\u2019s briefing room was one of four almost identical rooms in the nondescript, concrete block building that housed the 3525th Pilot Training Squadron. The speaker\u2019s stand was backed by a large green chalkboard and an annotated map of the local flying area. A built-in bookcase on the chalkboard side would provide housing for the incoming trainees\u2019 grade books. In keeping with the Air Force\u2019s penchant for having its written directives weigh as much as its aircraft, an identical set of shelves on Steadman\u2019s left was filled with an array of training manuals, binders full of obscure Air Force Regulations, and a small library of safety-related publications.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve only got one prior service troop,\u201d Steadman spoke in a monotone, \u201ca first lieutenant naviguesser. I\u2019ll take him; the rest of you will start with two or three studs each.\u201d He paused and let his gaze go to the back wall while he pursed his lips and massaged the back of his neck. \u201cOkay.\u201d He stepped to the side of the podium and took a few seconds to jab the unfinished cigarette out in an ashtray; his expression wasn\u2019t a grimace, but it was close. He propped one foot on the base of the speaker\u2019s stand and looked back at his notebook while smoothing a mustache he\u2019d shaved off six weeks earlier. And finally, the rumor became an official fact. \u201cWe\u2019ve got a black kid in the incoming bunch, gents.\u201d<\/p>\n

He let that soak in, then looked up to ask, \u201cAny volunteers?\u201d<\/p>\n

There are several cardinal rules in the military; forever reigning in the number one slot is: Never volunteer for anything. Added to that, the pilots scattered around the room were well aware that an object in motion is easier for the human eye to detect, and they became military-garbed mannequins.<\/p>\n

Except for the ceaseless sigh of air coming from the air-conditioning vents, the room was without sound.<\/p>\n

In any group of sixteen men, some are almost certain to be racially biased, but that wasn\u2019t the root cause behind the room\u2019s pervading silence.<\/p>\n

In July of the previous summer, a black lieutenant assigned to the T-37 flight down the hall washed out of pilot training. When he busted his final elimination check ride, the trainee told everyone who would listen that he was \u201ckicked out\u201d because of racial prejudice. Actually, the student\u2019s early ouster from the program had nothing to do with skin color; for the instructors who worked with him, the conclusion was unanimous from the beginning . . . the man was not cut out to be a pilot; he didn\u2019t have the \u201chands,\u201d the heart, or the SA\u2014the situational awareness.<\/p>\n

Within hours of the student being eliminated from the program, his congressman stepped in and, without availing himself of the facts, started twisting arms. The colonel in command of the 82nd Flying Training Wing knew he would never make general if he refused to yield, so he granted the student a special dispensation, giving him additional training.<\/p>\n

It was a colossal error on the part of all involved.<\/p>\n

In the world of aviation, conventional wisdom says: To keep an aircraft in the air, a pilot will always need at least one of three ingredients: airspeed, altitude, or ideas. If any one or two of those ingredients is absent or in short supply, the pilot must have a proportionate abundance of whatever remains.<\/p>\n

On his first ride after being reinstated, the young man let the aircraft get \u201clow and slow\u201d while turning final for a landing, thus robbing himself of a significant measure of two of the components he needed to keep his plane flying.<\/p>\n

The student immediately\u2014and inexplicably\u2014compounded his problem by pulling both throttles to idle, and the aircraft shuddered\u2014warning of an impending stall. With the aircraft still flying, the instructor took control and initiated a standard stall recovery by pushing the throttles forward and moving to take pressure off the stick\u2014no big deal. Even as the engines were spooling up, the student panicked and used both hands to jerk the stick full back. The abrupt maneuver cost the aircraft the last of its airspeed, and the T-37 stalled. At that altitude, with no airspeed, all the ideas in the world couldn\u2019t prevent what was coming.<\/p>\n

People on the ground watched helplessly as the aircraft pitched up and its forward movement stopped. The plane hung motionless for one sickening instant then dropped off on one wing and pointed its nose at the ground\u2014falling, not flying.<\/p>\n

The instructor took precious seconds to punch the student on the arm and yell \u201cEject! Eject!\u201d but the kid\u2019s hands were welded to the stick. The IP ejected too low and was seriously injured. The student was killed on impact.<\/p>\n

The accommodating congressman, in an often-practiced scramble to fix the blame firmly on someone else, presided over the sacrifice of everyone from the training wing commander down to the instructor.<\/p>\n

Steadman let his eyes move across the silent group and nodded his understanding. He spied Masland and was getting ready to pronounce his sentence when a captain with dark red hair lifted a hand and murmured, \u201cYo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll take him?\u201d Steadman\u2019s tone said, This is a joke, isn\u2019t it?<\/p>\n

The other instructors were so startled they glanced involuntarily at the man with the death wish.<\/p>\n

The object of their attention shrugged. \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n

Steadman continued to stare at the volunteer\u2014he didn\u2019t believe what he was hearing. No one in the room believed it. The other pilots retreated to their lifeless states because the issue might not be settled. The redhead, Rusty Mattingly, was the son of the youngest general in the Air Force. The officers in Mattingly\u2019s chain of command tried not to go overboard in showing partiality, but they didn\u2019t assign the junior captain too many \u201ctrash details\u201d either.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkeydokey,\u201d the flight commander took a deep breath and sighed, \u201cyou got \u2019im.\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank Steadman had five years of active duty remaining before he could retire. He pictured the stars on Mattingly\u2019s father\u2019s shoulders and prayed, Lord, please don\u2019t let me get blamed for this.<\/p>\n

Masland tried to hide his relief behind his coffee cup and spilled most of the contents in his lap. No one chided him for it.<\/p>\n

*********<\/p>\n

Sunday afternoon brought that week\u2019s measured interlude of heat-soaked silence. The skies over Williams Air Force Base were clear of clouds and airplanes. Acres of jet trainers\u2014the short, squatty little T-37s and the white, stiletto-shaped T-38s\u2014gleamed in the sun, fueled and ready for Monday. Mann stopped his car at the main gate, handed the young Air Policeman a sheet of his crisp new orders, and asked where he could get something to eat.<\/p>\n

The guard barely glanced at the orders while he let his eyes take in the car. \u201cBest burgers in Arizona, sir,\u201d he pointed. \u201cStraight down there at Base Operations.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mann stowed the orders back in their envelope while the guard snapped a salute. \u201cNice car, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mann smiled as he returned the salute. \u201cThanks.\u201d The car, Mann\u2019s college graduation present to himself, was created for an Air Force jet jockey.<\/p>\n

He drove onto the base\u2014his first time on a military installation as a commissioned officer\u2014and headed for the burgers. Food first\u2014then a place to sleep.<\/p>\n

Forty minutes later, the lieutenant with the crisp orders and cool car had Base Ops almost to himself. He leaned on the counter in the snack bar and licked his finger before passing it across a piece of greasy wax paper\u2014the former resting place of two hamburgers and a double order of fries. He was washing down the last crumbs with a long pull on his milkshake\u2014chocolate\u2014when airplane noises drew his attention to the window. A blue pickup with a yellow FOLLOW ME sign in the back was leading a camouflaged F-4 to a parking place on the ramp outside the operations building. The hulking fighter looked big enough to take off with a T-38 under each wing.<\/p>\n

Partner, that right there is a real live jet fighter, thought Mann.<\/p>\n

In response to the ground crewman\u2019s gesture that the wheels were chocked, the man in the plane\u2019s front cockpit signaled he was shutting down the left engine. The guy in the back cockpit unstrapped and clambered over the side. The passenger stopped on the ladder to fasten some loose straps in the backseat then dropped to the ground and took a hang-up bag and a well-stuffed B-4 bag from behind a panel somewhere on the plane\u2019s belly. The passenger hefted his bags and walked past the shark\u2019s mouth painted on the nose of the airplane, heading for Base Ops. The man in the F-4 twirled one finger to tell the crew chief he was restarting the left engine and gave a thumbs-out motion for the chocks to be pulled. The fighter was on its way back to the runway before the backseater got to the door of the building.<\/p>\n

Mann was watching the fighter taxi out when the passenger from the F-4 stepped into the foyer by the snack bar. Mann turned as the guy stopped to drop his bags and pull off a white helmet with a bright crimson visor cover. The F-4\u2019s passenger rubbed his hand through his hair to stir circulation back into his scalp then put the helmet in its bag. When he looked up to see Mann watching him, he left his bags in the middle of the marble tile floor and started for the snack bar while pulling off his flying gloves. From the insignia and stenciled name strip on the guy\u2019s flightsuit, Mann identified him as a first lieutenant, last name Chance. The patch on the right side of his chest marked him as part of the Tactical Air Command\u2014that, and the airplane he stepped out of, meant he was a member of a fighter outfit. The wings sewn above his name tag told the world he was a navigator\u2014his face said he was tired. Not a long-day kind of tired, more of the weeks-and-weeks kind.<\/p>\n

Lieutenant Chance was looking at a slender black guy wearing a tan, summer-weight uniform with second lieutenant insignia on the collar. The veteran airman stuck out a small hand and winked. \u201cI\u2019m Fat Chance. Is this Tucson?\u201d The grip was firm.<\/p>\n

\u201cI reckon that\u2019s close enough for government work, sir,\u201d said Mann. \u201cI\u2019m Bill Mann.\u201d<\/p>\n

Both men stood relaxed while the new arrival looked over his fellow comedian. New uniform. New brown bars. New flight cap stowed correctly behind a brand-new blue belt. New plastic name tag, precisely fixed on his right pocket\u2014white letters on a black background. MANN.<\/p>\n

\u201cLemme guess.\u201d Chance pulled his own war-weary flight cap out of a calf pocket on his G-suit and settled it over sandy red hair while he continued to run a calculating eye over the welcome committee. \u201cYou\u2019re in the class that starts Tuesday.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mann\u2019s face went blank with surprise. Good gosh, does it show that much?<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, it shows.\u201d The navigator spoke before Mann could answer. \u201cYou ain\u2019t got a speck of dust anywhere on you. The shoes look like you worked on \u2019em all morning with a fresh biscuit, the bars just came out of the box, an\u2019 that haircut is short enough to shame a Marine.\u201d He was grinning. \u201cLike my granny used to say, \u2018You look like you just stepped out of a bandbox.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Mann had to laugh. Here he was in uniform, joking around with a guy who had just climbed out of an F-4. He was definitely in the Air Force. \u201cGuilty,\u201d he said. \u201cJust drove on the base. Left the bandbox in a phone booth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou checked in at the Q yet?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, sir. I figured I\u2019d eat first in case they don\u2019t give us any food for a few days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSmart move . . . an\u2019 don\u2019t call me \u2018sir.\u2019\u201d The drawl was straight out of lower Alabama by way of a year in Southeast Asia. \u201cI\u2019m gonna be in that class with you, and we\u2019re gonna be up to our elbows in alligators for the next twelve months, so we don\u2019t have time to play military; we\u2019ll leave that to the Training Command weenies.\u201d He looked at Mann to see if he understood.<\/p>\n

\u201cSounds good to me.\u201d Mann was nodding. \u201cDo people really call you \u2018Fat\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYup\u2014that\u2019s my call sign.\u201d He handed Mann the helmet bag, gathered up the rest of his baggage, and headed for the door. \u201cYou got wheels?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight outside the door.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcellent.\u201d<\/p>\n

The June sun in Phoenix is expected to be harsh; it was brutal. They walked the few steps to the Vette, and Mann pointed at the chrome luggage rack. \u201cTrunk\u2019s full.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNice wheels. \u201958?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYep.\u201d<\/p>\n

Most pilots have a thing for speed and the Vette would be one of twenty-two sports cars in Willie\u2019s UPT Class 72-01.<\/p>\n

Chance rested the bags gently on the rack and took the helmet bag from Mann. He pulled a huge cigar out of it, ran it under his nose, grinned, and waved it at Mann. \u201cGen-u-wine Cuban.\u201d He fired up the cigar, took off his G-suit, and slid into the passenger seat of the Vette. \u201cLet\u2019s go find the Q first. I\u2019ll grab a shower and some civvies, then we\u2019ll hunt us up a beerysoda.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mann got behind the wheel.<\/p>\n

The navigator waved his cigar to take in the car. \u201cI even like the color.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mann was backing out of the parking spot. \u201cThey told me red increases the horsepower by 15 percent.\u201d<\/p>\n

The redhead ran a hand through his hair. \u201cCloser to twenty-five.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n


<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[37,8,34],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5250","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-adventure","category-books","category-historical"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5250","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5250"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5250\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5261,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5250\/revisions\/5261"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5250"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5250"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5250"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}