Page 87 of My All American Girl

38

DEAN

Ipulled my truck to a stop outside the dorm and waited. Sarah appeared a minute later wearing her flight suit and carrying her ugly green duffel bag. She grinned when she saw me and hopped in.

“Ready?” I asked.

“So ready!” She was practically vibrating with excitement.

This was her chance to literally fly.

“Nervous?” I asked her.

“Excited. You?”

I chuckled. “I haven’t decided yet. But don’t you dare try and show off up there. I’d like to make it to London in one piece. And I don’t want to take a swim in the Atlantic. Giant squids are real.”

Sarah laughed, her face lighting up. “Don’t worry, Dean. I’m not planning on getting us lost at sea. And if any squids bother you, I’ll make calamari out of them.”

She radiated this energy that made everything seem possible, even crossing the Atlantic in a tiny plane. It was contagious, and for a moment, I let myself believe in it too. We spent the next hour prepping the plane and going through safety procedures. Sarah’s professionalism was comforting. She was meticulous, checking and rechecking every little detail, not missing a thing. She might be impulsive in a bar fight but she was strict about flying.

“Okay,” she finally said, standing on her tiptoes to stow her duffel bag in the plane. “I think we’re ready.” She slid past me, her hand brushing mine for a moment before she settled into the pilot’s seat. I felt a jolt right to my heart.

“All right,” I said, stepping in after her, settling into the co-pilot’s seat behind her.

“Ready?” she asked me again, her voice steady and strong.

“Ready.” I nodded. “Do your thing.”

The T6 was an aircraft I was familiar with. I had flown one myself countless times and taught others how to fly. But I still felt a nervous flutter in my stomach as Sarah powered up the aircraft. She pulled the starter. The engine roared to life with a shudder that ran through the entire plane. I watched her hands move over the controls with confident ease. It was clear this wasn’t her first time at the controls of a T6.

She flicked a glance over her shoulder at me, a coy grin playing on her lips. “Hold on to your hat, cowboy.” And with that, she pushed forward on the throttle, and we were off, the sensation of speed and power thrilling even for a seasoned pilot like myself.

The runway below us disappeared, falling away as the plane shakily ascended. Sarah’s hands were steady on the controls, her eyes focused ahead. She was in her element up here, her confidence radiating through each maneuver she executed with practiced ease. The woman was born to fly.

I watched from my seat, feeling a surge of pride and fondness for this woman who defied all odds. She was strong, capable, and independent. She was easily the best young pilot I had trained. And by far the most enchanting.

We continued to climb higher, the landscape below growing faint. I kept a close eye on things, watching the way she handled the controls and how steady the plane was. Although I was the passenger, I had to stay alert just in case something went wrong.

She gave me a thumbs-up. “Settle in,” she said through the headset. “It’s going to be a long flight.”

The roar of the engine filled the cockpit as Sarah expertly guided the T6 through the skies. I sat behind her, watching her every move. Her hands were steady on the controls, her eyes sharp and focused. It was a thrill to see her in her element, completely at ease despite the long flight ahead. Other pilots I had flown with were constantly checking and rechecking things and acted like the plane was going to nosedive at any second.

They couldn’t do that on a real mission. They would never make it home.

“Alright, Sarah,” I called over the headset. “Let’s run through some scenarios. What do you do if your oil pressure indicator comes on?”

“Monitor the gauge closely, reduce power to lower the oil temperature, and divert to the nearest airfield if the pressure continues to drop,” she replied as if she was talking about the weather.

“Good,” I said, nodding approvingly. “What about a hydraulic failure?”

“Switch to the emergency hydraulic system, and if that doesn’t work, prepare for a gear-up landing,” she responded, her voice confident.

I grinned. She was sharp and capable, with a strong understanding of the aircraft. She had an instinctive feel for the T6 and a knack for making quick, accurate decisions. It was clear she had put in the work, and it was paying off. It was just like our first flight together when I cut the engines. She was prepared for my questions.

As we flew over the Atlantic, she adjusted the altitude and speed with ease, navigating through minor changes in temperature and winds without needing much input from me. I could see her glancing at the instruments, her mind always a step ahead, anticipating and reacting. I had no doubt she was running through scenarios in her mind and deciding how she was going to respond. It was smart. It was what I did when I was flying.

“How are you holding up back there, old man?” she teased, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk.