The Turned Field: A Story of Life, Death, War and Forgotten Love

By Kent F. Jacobs

Air Force top gun Kyle Kendrick, a leader in the initial air strike of the Gulf War, returns to England and is assigned duty as the first American/NATO liaison at RAF Coltishall. After departing a RAF Winter Ball, Kyle is involved in a seemingly unsurviva

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sunstone Press
• Release date: Mar 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781611393422

Kent F. Jacobs

Kent Jacobs is a graduate of Northwestern University College of Medicine with a specialty post-graduate diploma from the University of Colorado College of Medicine. His interest in writing began during his early years as a full-time academician. He is also the author of The Turned Field and Zuni Stew, both from Sunstone Press and he lives with his wife, professional painter Sallie Ritter in southern New Mexico. They received the New Mexico Governor’s Award for Excellence in the Arts in 2014, the state’s highest award in the arts.

Book preview

1

White! Brilliant white. I thought it might be the ceiling. Of what? Vague figures floated in and out of my field of vision. From all sides came strange sounds. Bubbling water? Humming. Shuffling feet. Indecipherable whispers.

A face filled my visual space and floated above me. I did not recognize the face, but was struck by the starched white cap pinned in place. I felt a soft touch on one cheek, I guessed it was his or her hand. My mind could not distinguish for certain. I tried turning my head to see more of the person, the room, but my head refused to move. I was encased in something preventing all motion.

The air I breathed burned my throat and tortured my chest. I wasn’t breathing! Something outside of me was doing that.

I tried to lift my arms, but they didn’t obey. God, I thought, I don’t know where they are. My legs! They were lost, too.

I tried to think, but the pain from my chest prevented me. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know anything. Suddenly shattering pain came from…I don’t know where. I lunged forward.

I had to escape.

Nothing happened. No member of my body identified itself. The room became excruciatingly bright. I closed my eyes but they involuntarily fluttered. The sounds of the room became drowned out by the violent hammering of my heart. The taste in my mouth was acrid, like the sickening-sweet smell of the white room. My eyes darted from quadrant to quadrant of my limited visual field.

I had to get away.

Quickly the field of white, the figures and sounds faded. I was falling, falling into a pool of swirling darkness.

2

The schematic of a Lear 35 was clear in Captain Kyle Kendrick’s mind; he knew there was only a single firewall between the raging fire in #1 engine and the fuselage fuel tank. He also knew he had less than two minutes to prevent the compressed air, saturated with fuel in the #1 engine, from becoming a virtual bomb.

Pungent, oily smoke began to flood the entire cabin. Kyle instinctively pulled the thrust lever to shut down #1 engine. We’ll clean up the emergency after immediate action items. Look at the checklist—go bold face. He attempted to absorb the checklist while simultaneously digesting the barrage of information coming from the instrument panel. His eyes were glued to the glowing fire light signal on the panel as he pulled the engine fire T-handle. With this single act, #1 engine fuel, hydraulics, and cabin air would shut down.

Kyle flipped the switch to manually close the bleed air valve, cutting off the cockpit and cabin air, slowing down the intake of poisonous smoke. He had to starve the fire of oxygen—he had two shots of halon gas in the tail. He depressed the amber button. Both men in the cockpit focused on the turbine temperature gauge of the #1 engine. The needle slowly began to fall.

Number One shut down and fire out, said the first officer. But there’s a warning light. Cabin pressure compromised—don oxygen masks! As the words came out of the co-pilot’s mouth, the masks popped from the ceiling.

Number Two should be holding the cabin pressure steady. The bleed air must’ve failed, or Number Two’s ducting blew. I gotta take her down. Beginning emergency descent.

Kyle extended the spoilers and lowered the landing gear, watching with relief when the three green lights appeared on the instrument panel indicating gear down and locked. As the first officer rapidly read off the single engine approach and landing checklist, Kyle put the plane in an exaggerated nose-down attitude, taking the jet into a dive of 6,000 feet per minute. The cabin temperature was falling rapidly; the rare oxygen atmosphere of 30,000-plus feet was well below zero degrees.

The jet plunged earthward, passing through 16,000, 15,000, 14,000 feet. The wind rushing over the skin of the aircraft increased the cabin noise to a nerve-shattering level as the dramatically reduced cabin pressure loosened the door seals.

The first officer checked to make sure Dr. and Mrs. Murphy were wearing their oxygen masks. Are you okay? he yelled through his mask. The doctor gave a thumbs-up sign.

Kyle leveled the plane at 10,000 feet and retracted the spoilers. The first officer glanced back at the passengers and caught Dr. Murphy’s high sign again.

SoCal, called Kyle, level at 10,000 feet, fire out, Santa Barbara in sight.

Roger that, Lear 135 Kilo Kilo.

Kyle removed his oxygen mask and said, Lear 135KK over water. Request to jettison fuel.

SoCal replied, Souls aboard and fuel?

Four souls, 2,800 pounds.

Approved, cease dumping five miles from shore. Contact Santa Barbara tower. Good luck.

Santa Barbara, Kyle called, quickly explaining his problem. At the same time, he added 10° of flap to gain lift as he began to slow the aircraft. The excess fuel jettison required nearly five minutes. The first officer called off the single engine checklist, and Kyle responded with, It’s done. On final approach, he would increase air speed another 15 knots to 130—it would be a hot landing.

Santa Barbara, ten miles out. Runway in sight.

Roger that. We have you in sight.

We’re plannin’ a straight-in approach. Will stop aircraft straight ahead and exit the aircraft on runway. Please have emergency crews standing by. Do you see smoke trailin’ at this time?

Negative. Clear to land. Emergency crews in position.

Kyle asked the first officer to give him the single engine go-around procedure. Just in case we can’t make it on the first try.

The Lear was two-and-a-half miles from touchdown. He landed the plane cleanly, immediately deployed the thrust reverser on the good engine, and extended the spoilers. The landing gear held.

The Lear rolled to a stop two hundred feet from the end of the runway. Kyle shut down all systems. As emergency vehicles rushed to surround the plane, he called to his first officer, Get them out! Fast! We can catch fire again any minute.

A day later, Kyle called Dr. Murphy from the hangar. I’m havin’ another Lear ferried out for us. We’re trying to sort out what caused the fire, and why we lost cabin pressure, but I promise I’ll get you home on schedule. I gotta say, you two were mighty cool up there.

Quite a display yourself, Captain.

You both were great. Not a peep when I took her into that dive.

You just bought yourself lunch. Let us know when.

They drove for nearly an hour up and into the Santa Barbara mountains. Low clouds hung in the canyons, seeping toward the fog-laden Pacific. At a narrow, tight turn in the road, the ambient light dimmed. Sudden markedly-increased humidity chilled the air.

What’s all of this? asked Kyle from the backseat. Thirty, maybe forty motorcycles were parked along the roadside in front of a log and chink building.

You never know what you’ll find out here, said Dr. Murphy. But you look like the type that might like this place.

They crossed a flagstone courtyard and ducked into the darkened entrance. Christmas lights blinked along the exposed beams of the low ceiling. Welcome to Cold Spring Tavern. It was the last stagecoach stop before Santa Barbara. I don’t think they’ve changed a thing since it was built, said Dr. Murphy.

You’re right about that, said the hostess. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have a long wait today. If you’d like, you can have a drink in the bar next door.

The bar was straight out of a sepia photograph, and reeked of cigarettes, beer and atmosphere—wood plank floors, long mahogany bar, plenty of round oak tables and barrel chairs. At one end was a small platform with a blackboard announcing the weekend band. The other end of the room was filled by an enormous rock fireplace blackened by years of smoke.

A bartender in worn Levi’s and tight western shirt tossed a log on the smoldering fire. She smoothed back her blonde hair and asked, What can I get you all?

Do you happen to have some Firestone on draft? asked Kyle.

You bet, honey.

Sounds like you’re on to something, commented Mrs. Murphy, settling into a chair by the fire.

I discovered Firestone last night in a restaurant downtown. A round of drafts for all of us, on me, grinned Kyle. If there’s room on the way home, I’m gonna take a case back with us.

After a long swallow from the frosted mug, Dr. Murphy leaned forward and said, To one helluva pilot.

And to my remarkably calm passengers, or ‘pax’ as we call y’all in the business, replied Kyle. And to their choice in fine dining establishments. A group of black leather-clad bikers clustered at the bar were talking animatedly about the virtues of the Harley. Did you notice the guy outside fiddlin’ with his GPS?

Very upscale—I thought you’d pick that up, replied Dr. Murphy.

The bartender paused by their table to apologize for the wait. The bikers have just finished their charity drive—gifts for needy children—I’m afraid they’re settling in for awhile.

Can we eat right here? We’re settled in, too, asked Mrs. Murphy.

Could you do that for us? asked Dr. Murphy.

Sure, honey. I’ll get some menus.

Doc, you should’ve brought Mrs. Murphy on all your trips, said Kyle. She had matched him beer for beer.

Call me Mrs. M. The pilot seemed content; she had liked him immediately, and not just because he had landed the Lear safely. She didn’t know why, but she felt compelled to ask a personal question. At their hotel the evening before, her husband had mentioned Kyle’s tracheotomy scar. She knew he was as curious as she, and hoped her forwardness wouldn’t offend him. The scar on your neck, did you have a serious illness or an accident of some sort? Was it a plane crash?

Kyle Kendrick put the menu down and said quietly, It’s a long story, Mrs. M. It was an automobile accident. In England—about this time of the year, just before Christmas. I was taken to the hospital DOA.

"You were pronounced dead on arrival?" repeated Dr. Murphy.

Like I said, it’s a long story. How much time do you have?

3

Jamie’s black BMW sped through the entrance of Colleen Close, brushing the ivy clinging to the rock wall. She parked next to Kyle Kendrick’s Saab and waited until the end of the last chorus of a Christmas carol on the BBC radio station. A smile crossed her face as she climbed the steps to the red brick home known as The Scoots. She felt good, nostalgic. Kyle had decorated the porch box hedge with colored lights.

I’m in here, called a voice from the kitchen.

Jamie stood in the doorway and watched Kyle on his hands and knees. He measured and sliced a large piece of cardboard, then folded and wedged the corners to form a long, narrow box. He didn’t look up, but said, My origami lesson for the day.

What’s it for?

I found a great English bicycle for Tyler. They had bikes at the BX, but I wanted something from here, so I went into Norwich. I can remember my own first ride. Like always, I was hell-bent-for-leather. Crashed and really tore up my chin—still have a little scar. He folded an end of the cardboard and taped it in place. Same thing will probably happen to him. Tyler’s absolutely fearless.

Just like his father. Jamie kissed the top of his head.

Shippin’ this thing kind of hurts. Sure would like to give it to him in person. With one arm, he hefted the bicycle into the box. A perfect fit. He taped the cardboard crate tightly and stood back to admire his work. At least my degree in engineering is worth something after all. Hey, you’re home early. Get out of those fatigues. Big doin’s at the base tonight, remember? A British institution, the Winter Ball.

Do you have to go?

I wish I didn’t. He had flown two sorties that day, he was exhausted. He had led two Jags to the Wainfleet bombing range—bomb and strafe, then they climbed for some dogfighting. After lunch, their flight of four Jags practiced air-to-air refueling with a British Victor tanker, then flew low-level exercises over the North Sea to the Scottish border. Man, it was intense. We shot down to one hundred feet, really wide formation, to the target. What a rush!

Timing’s pretty critical there. Don’t need any bombs exploding under one of your own guys.

"You bet, and they had other Jags right on our butts in simulated pursuit as aggressors. Colonel McGuire debriefed me personally. At the end he gave me that look—Be There. He’ll know for sure if I’m not at the ball. You are coming, aren’t you? We can slow dance. Sweetheart, I’m real good at that." He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

Later, Kyle. She pulled away and said, I need to feed Grover, then we’ll talk. The big, yellow dog was at the door, tail wagging. Jamie leaned down, tousled the Labrador’s golden ruff and braced herself for his return hug. You know, he really loves his yard.

It’s security for him. Mr. Cleveland’s lazy. With the new fence, he knows he doesn’t have to guard. The Lab breathed out heavily, letting Kyle know he was listening.

Well, it’s gorgeous—typical overkill on your part. Mr. Evertsz told me he’d love for you to fence the whole place and rebuild one of the hothouses.

I’ll build things for you. That’s all. Boy, I do love this place. How’d you ever find it?

Luck—you know how lucky I am. Stopped and chatted up, as they say, the farmer. I asked if he knew of any rental property in the area. He stood there in his overalls and rubber boots and took his time looking me over, particularly my uniform. Asked me a bunch of questions, like was my husband also in the military, and did we have kids. I didn’t tell him we weren’t married. Better that way, I thought. Didn’t mention Tyler. He really brightened up when I told him you were stationed at RAF Coltishall and flew Jaguars for them.

Good move on your part, clever girl.

That’s when he told me about how he and his wife had built this wonderful home, going to all the trouble of period details like the leaded windows, Georgian fireplace, the conservatory, all that neat stuff for their son and his fiance, and then the wedding was called off and here they were stuck with a grand house in the middle of all their tomato hothouses. Good thing we both love tomatoes.

This is perfect, just perfect. I’m the happiest I’ve been since being posted to England.

For that you get a beer.

No thanks, I gotta drive tonight. She didn’t respond, but looked away. He touched her shoulder. Let me fix you a G and T.

Still not looking at him, she said, A gin and tonic would be nice.

They sat in the glassed-in conservatory facing the first tomato house, only fifty feet from their door. The property was located in East Anglia, about twenty miles west of Norwich, surrounded by landscape straight out of a Constable painting, a timeless world of lakes, rivers, marshes and fens. England’s wetlands, known as the Norfolk Broads, consisted of more than one hundred miles of navigable rivers, home to a myriad of birds, a fragile place treated with great respect by the locals. The land had been reclaimed from the sea over five hundred years before and was acknowledged to be some of the richest loam in the world, producing crop after crop. Their landlord’s tomatoes attested to that. The dazzling red color, the especially sweet and succulent fruit proved a great treat to the Americans, both accustomed to flavorless cardboard-tasting U.S. commercial produce.

Jamie broke the silence. You like those Jaguars, don’t you?

Jags are fast, they even look fast, and they have AFTERBURNERS! He thought of the burners kicking in, at 25,000 feet in a minute, flying at 420 knots. I took up a Jaguar GR.MK1 today—you know the plane almost as well as I do. The cockpit’s small and compact, an absolute dream to fly.

Better than the A-10’s? You always said they were the finest in the world.

Yup. I strapped that plane to my hiney day after day during the Gulf War. Like part of my body. The Gulf War, Kyle repeated pensively. At least it kept me busy. He had admitted to himself long ago he loved the danger, the thrill. He wondered if he had loved the kill—a dangerous thought in itself. He did know that for weeks he had focused only on the missions, no room for personal thoughts, for his family.

You know, I haven’t heard a word from Kari. He hadn’t had any contact with his estranged wife for some time. Kari was smart, too smart. Ambitious, too ambitious. They had married young, and after the birth of their son, Tyler, their lives had taken divergent paths. He had become immersed in his work, rising rapidly through the ranks. Kari, frustrated, lonely and bored, looked for companionship among the young men at the Officer’s Club, and later at the university campus.

Kari? asked Jamie as she walked to the tall windows. Are you worried about her?

Not a word about Tyler. She’s got to be preoccupied. She’s changed so much.

You did talk to her about another tour of duty over here, didn’t you? Jamie said quietly.

Of course, at the time she seemed really enthusiastic. Tyler was happy—I thought all of us were happy. I never suspected a thing. Besides, the assignment was a prize, a real boost for my career: Air Force Exchange Liaison Mission/OEP. Kyle looked off in the distance, focusing on nothing. We were loadin’ the car to head to the airport and catch our flight back to England. That’s when she told me, right outa the blue. ‘I’ve decided Tyler and I are staying here. You go on.’ Just like that. He shook his head. He had begged her, told her how important the assignment was. He had to report to Coltishall in twenty-four hours. She knew that. God, he would’ve been AWOL if he didn’t return. He asked her what had changed her mind. All she said was she wanted to finish her degree. He told her she could easily do that in England. Lots of opportunity on base.

Absolutely, and Cambridge is only an hour away. What more could she want?

That wasn’t the point. I think she’d already decided to stay long before she told me that day. I was physically sick on the plane coming back here. I called as soon as I got on base—she said she’d think about coming over.

Jamie moved behind him and began massaging his neck. Have you thought about the fact that she may change her mind—when she gets her degree?

He arched his back slightly, leaning into the pressure of her hands. I don’t know what she’s thinkin’ about. Guess I never did. Grover lumbered up beside them and sighed into a comfortable curl. One thing Kari said was I would be movin’ around from base to base for this Jaguar training, and I’d never be at home with them.

But you would.

Don’t you know I told her that. I’d be home every weekend, and for the long stints, the Brits were gonna give us housing—it would’ve been great for Tyler—something he’d never forget. Kyle tossed Grover’s ball across the terra cotta floor. She laid it on me when I was in Scotland. Did she ever… He fell silent, distracted. Grover dropped the ball at Kyle’s feet