Skies to Conquer: The Psyche of War, #3

By Kacey Ezell

She'll Conquer Every Sky If It Means Saving Her Child…

 

Pearl Silver was happy. She had a good job teaching young nurses. She was married to a good man who loved her. She had a son who made her proud every day. Most of the time, her memories of her time fighting in the skies over Europe remained a distant part of her past. Something she was proud to have done, but that time was over. Her life twenty years later was very different, and she didn't have much reason to tap into her psychic power—or to stay in touch with her old comrades in arms.

 

But when her son signed up to fight for his country in Vietnam, it put a strain on her perfect life. And when her baby boy goes missing, Pearl doesn't question what she has to do. 

 

Twenty years ago, Pearl went to war at the behest of her nation. This time, she's going to war to find her son. 

 

And she will leave no sky unconquered. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theogony Books
• Release date: Nov 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781648552878

Book preview

Chapter One

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Sometimes, at the oddest moments, the world liked to remind Pearl Silver Coleman of the War.

That day, it was the whipping wind that did it. She reflected, as she stepped off the city bus and pulled the collar of her wool coat up, that she’d faced nastier biting wind back when she’d flown with 8th Air Force in England.

And just like that, her memories rose to the fore: the clammy wetness of English fog, the scent of aircraft fuel and spent brass, the choking fear belonging to men she hadn’t seen in years...she remembered all of it as if it were yesterday. Like it was right now. Like she was back at RAF Ridgeway, walking back to the WAC billets after a long, brutal flight.

A burst of wind whipped by her, pelting her stockinged calves with tiny little bits of leaf detritus. Pearl blinked and shook her head to dispel her daydream. This wasn’t England, this was Atlanta, and she was woolgathering. She picked up the pace toward home, eager to put this workday behind herself.

Most of the time, Pearl enjoyed her work. Her nursing students at Spelman College tended to be a bright lot, eager to learn and make a difference. Pearl reveled in their optimism, which often fueled her own. In her 44 years on this Earth, Pearl had learned a positive outlook was essential...but it took a lot of energy to keep it up. Between her students’ lack of focus due to the upcoming break, and her own mental list of things to do before the holiday, Pearl didn’t have that energy. It had made for a long day at the end of a long year, and she was just tired.

Fortunately, the bus stop wasn’t far from her house. She let out a sigh of relief as she rounded the corner and caught sight of the neatly fenced yard and smart white porch that adorned the brick front of the modestly-sized house. She quickened her pace and opened the gate just as her husband’s blue Pontiac GTO eased round the far corner and purred its way down the street. Despite her fatigue and sour mood, Pearl smiled. Randall loved that car almost as much as he loved his wife and son, and it showed.

Hey, Babydoll. Randall Coleman leaned out the window as he pulled into the driveway. He flashed her the smile that still made her knees tremble as he cut the engine. Happy to see me?

Always am, Pearl said. How was your day?

Long, Randall said, grimacing. Sympathy twisted through Pearl.

Yeah, she said. Me, too. Want a drink?

Sure. He smiled up at her again as she walked toward the open window of the car. If you’re offering.

I am, she said with a smile of her own. Let’s get inside, and I’ll fix us something nice. Then you can tell me about your long day, and I’ll tell you about mine.

The debutantes acting up? Randall asked, a teasing note entering his voice. He opened the car door and unfolded his tall, powerfully muscled form from behind the wheel.

They’re just distracted by the holiday, Pearl said, and I can’t say as I blame them. I’m ready for a break myself. She hitched her shoulder bag up into place, then reached out for Randall’s free hand. He laced their fingers together and brought her knuckles up to his lips for a kiss.

Well, Babydoll, he murmured, his lips grazing her skin, his voice dropping low, and his eyes going intense, like you said, let’s get inside, and you can have your...break.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold rocketed through Pearl, and she smiled her own sultry smile up at her husband.

* * *

The nice thing about RJ being gone, Pearl thought to her husband as she finished rinsing the soap from her skin, is that you and I can act as shameless as we like with no one to say anything about it!

Randall looked over at her from where he stood with a towel around his hips, leaning over the bathroom sink to wipe the steam off the mirror. Despite the entirely pleasurable half hour they’d just spent, Pearl couldn’t help but notice the way the water beaded along the ridged muscles under his chocolate-colored skin.

You keep looking at me like that, Babydoll, and neither of us is gonna get that drink...or dinner, Randall thought back, but his easy grin showed he appreciated her appreciation. And I’m hungry.

Me, too, Pearl said, twisting the knob to cut the flow of water from the showerhead. You had me working up an appetite.

Damn straight! Her husband preened. He pulled a towel from the rack on the wall and held it out to her as she pushed the curtain aside and stepped out of the tub. Then he indulged in a bit of ostentatious ogling of his own before chuckling and turning back to the sink to finish brushing his teeth.

Warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water spread through Pearl. She kept her eyes on her man, drinking in the sight of him as she dried her skin and wrapped herself in the towel. Sure, the salt was beginning to outnumber the pepper in his hair, and his dark, expressive eyes sat in a nest of laugh and smile lines, but the same was true of her. After a quarter-century of marriage, he still lit the fires deep in her belly, still challenged her intellect, still provided a home for her soul.

Speaking of that drink, Randall said out loud as he turned off the water and wiped his face clean. I’ll go make it. You want me to throw dinner in the oven while you get dressed?

Yes, please, Pearl answered, sending him a long mental caress before breaking their connection. It was hard—it always was, the bond between them was so strong—but she had plenty of practice. There was significant danger in maintaining a psychic connection for too long, particularly where strong emotions were involved. Pearl relented and allowed the link during their intimate moments, but she religiously disengaged afterward.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in her favorite pair of casual slacks and a warm, fuzzy sweater, Pearl leaned back against her husband’s chest and sipped her drink as a fire crackled in the hearth nearby. The warmth from the bourbon in the cola spread through her insides, bringing with it a delightful, floaty kind of calm. The trials of her long day melted away, and Pearl reveled in this moment of peace.

The scent of her baking casserole had just begun to filter through the house when the doorbell rang. A pulse of rebellious irritation surged through Pearl’s mind.

Who on Earth could that be? she asked, loath to move from her spot lounging with Randall on the sofa.

I don’t know, Randall said. I guess you’d better go see.

Pearl glanced up at him darkly, but he didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, he gave her his cockiest grin and a wink, and lifted his own drink to his lips.

Fine, Pearl said on a gusty sigh and pushed herself up to her feet. She threw another forbidding look over her shoulder at Randall as she made a production of throwing her heavy coat over her shoulders before opening the door to the icy chill of a December night.

The grin that greeted her might have been her husband’s, twenty years ago.

RJ! Pearl cried, joy flooding through her mind, replacing all the irritation and bother. Oh, my Lord! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home? She pushed the door wider and reached out to drag her son into a hard, uncompromising hug.

Hi, Momma, Randall Coleman, Junior said. I wanted to surprise you. Surprise!

Pearl laughed and then swiped at the line of tears that suddenly spilled from her eyes.

Well, come in! Come in, rascal. Randall, look, RJ is home! She turned to find her husband, with a grin as wide as his son’s, had already stepped up behind her. Suspicion flashed into being in her mind and grew into a deep certainty.

You knew! she said, her tone indignant. You rat! You knew, and you didn’t tell me!

The boy wanted to surprise his momma, Randall said, leaning forward to clasp his son’s hand. It’s not for me to get in the way of that. Hello, son; welcome home.

Thanks, Dad, RJ said. He shook his father’s hand, and then leaned in as Randall clasped him in a hard hug. Love and pride for her two men swelled within Pearl until she felt her heart might burst.

Well! she said, sniffling back her joyful tears and shaking her head. Let’s not just stand here in the doorway. You’re right on time for dinner, RJ. Come on in and hang up your coat.

Thanks, Momma, RJ said once his father released him from the hug. He peeled off his heavy coat and the smart suit jacket he wore underneath. Once more, Pearl felt a stab of nostalgia. Her son was a dead ringer for the young man his father had once been.

Can I make you a drink, son? Randall asked as he turned and led the way back into the living room. At twenty years old, RJ had been old enough to drink for two years, but it still sounded strange to Pearl. Still, she knew her son was a man, and Randall knew it, too. It had been a long time coming, and she was proud of who he’d become.

Sure, RJ said as he followed his father into the living room. Whatever you’re having would be great, thanks.

How’s school? Randall asked as he walked past the couch to the small bar set up under the far window. He poured RJ a bourbon and coke and refreshed his own beverage. Finals go well for your summer classes?

As well as can be expected, RJ said with a grimace. My Materials professor has been killing me, but I think I did all right in the end. I better have, with all the studying I did.

Pearl heard Randall’s sympathetic chuckle as she headed down the short hallway into the kitchen to check on dinner. She hadn’t planned for more than herself and Randall, but the casserole was large, and she’d expected leftovers. Even a young man with RJ’s appetite should find enough to eat between that and the salad she’d prepared. She opened the oven and inhaled, savoring the scent of melted cheese, beef, and roasted vegetables. The top of the casserole was just turning a lovely golden brown on the edges, while the cheese in the center bubbled up enticingly.

Perfect, Pearl murmured. She grabbed a towel and used it to ease the casserole out of the oven before placing it on a trivet to cool. She folded the towel, then pulled the salad from the refrigerator, and hunted up some serving utensils.

Boys, she called out as she pulled three plates and the appropriate amount of silverware from her cupboards. Go wash up! Dinner’s ready.

She heard the rhythm of their conversation rise and fall as they followed her instructions. A warmth that had nothing to do with the oven spread through her, saturating her being. The final tension from the day melted away in the face of her glowing happiness, and she thought she just might burst with love as her two men walked in and seated themselves.

Smells good, Momma, RJ said as she scooped a generous helping of the steaming meat and cheese casserole onto his plate.

Good, Pearl replied, joy threading through her tone. Dig in!

RJ and his father both obeyed this admonition, and Pearl herself was halfway through her second helping before either of them slowed down enough to concentrate on conversation.

Son, Randall said, tell me, how’re you being treated up there in Greensboro? You haven’t had any trouble?

No, Dad, RJ said, shaking his head. You know North Carolina A&T is a black university. Best historically black engineering school in the country, remember?

Sure, sure, Randall said, nodding, but still, that could make it a target for some troublemakers angry about ‘negros getting uppity.’

Dad, RJ said, patience shading his tone, I know there’s a lot going on with the movement and all, but really, I’m fine. The school is a good place, protected from all that violence and nonsense.

Nonsense? Randal asked, his mild tone sending a warning shiver down Pearl’s spine. "People are fighting for your right to be treated just like any other young man, RJ. I’d hardly call it nonsense."

That’s not what I meant, Dad.

Isn’t it? Because you seem awfully flippant about the whole thing. Maybe it’s time you took a look around yourself, son, and really opened your eyes. It doesn’t matter how many degrees you get from black colleges; you’ll never be good enough to be an engineer in this country, not as far as white folks are concerned. They’re going to look at you and decide you’re good for nothing but manual labor, singing and dancing, or dying in that stupid foreign war against another group of people with the wrong color skin.

Randal’s demeanor built in intensity with every word. By the time he’d finished his speech, he was leaning forward over his forgotten plate, dark eyes glinting with anger.

Pearl’s good feeling vanished, replaced by a tired wish that she hadn’t served her husband that last drink after all.

Randall— she started to say, but RJ put up his hand to forestall her.

No, Momma, it’s all right, her son said. Dad has strong opinions, and he’s entitled to them. I’m actually glad this came up. There’s something I want to tell you both.

Pearl blinked in surprise, then focused on her son. He stared back at his father, his face and expression calm, even as the fork trembled in his hand.

I’m not returning to A&T next semester. I’ve joined the Army, to fight for my country.

Silence rang through the kitchen, broken only by the ticking of the clock over the stove. Pearl closed her eyes briefly and laid down her fork.

Lord, she thought, I don’t know who needs you most right now, my husband or my son...

"Boy, are you out of your mind? Randall’s voice blasted through the room, pulling Pearl from her fervent prayer. He shoved his chair back from the table, rattling Pearl’s good china, and surged to his feet. How in the hell could you possibly do such a thing? After all your mother and I have sacrificed for you to give you this education? Why on Earth would you go and throw that away?"

I’m not throwing anything away, Dad, RJ said, his own voice gaining an edge of heat. Pearl turned to him, pleading with her eyes, reaching out with her gift. RJ was her baby boy, she’d carried him within her own body, and the connection between them snapped instantly into place.

Please, son, Pearl begged. Please have patience. You know your father’s feelings on this matter!

RJ didn’t acknowledge her out loud, but he took a deep breath, as if to gather his calm and keep his temper in check.

The hell you aren’t! Randall said, still raging. No! You call that damned recruiter back and you tell him you’ve changed your mind! You’re going back to school!

No, Dad, RJ said, his voice calm but steely, I’m not.

You are! Randall insisted, putting his hands on the table and leaning forward, his eyes bulging with rage. You absolutely are!

I don’t understand why you’re so upset, Dad. Momma fought for our country in World War Two—

You leave your mother out of this! Randall shouted, and RJ shoved his chair backward. No son of mine is going to go off to some foreign land to fight and die for a country that treats him as less than a man! I won’t allow it!

RJ pulled in a deep breath, his cheeks darkening with a flush.

Please, Pearl begged him silently as he got slowly to his feet, his eyes never leaving his father’s. Please don’t.

I love you, Momma. I’ll write you every week.

RJ, don’t—

But he did. With a gentle but inexorable shove, Randall Junior severed his mother’s psychic connection as he faced off against his father.

I’m not asking you, Dad, RJ said, his tone low and calm. "I’m a man grown, and I am going to serve my country, even if that makes me no son of yours."

Pearl pressed her lips together. The tearing pain in her chest threatened to take her breath away. Rising horror threatened to drown her as her husband slowly, deliberately turned his back.

Randall, she gasped, tears thick in her voice. Her husband didn’t move. Across the table, Pearl’s son nodded and laid down his napkin beside his plate. He took a single step toward her, then leaned down and kissed her tear-streaked cheek.

I love you, Momma, he said. She stood, frozen in her body, but reaching desperately out with her mind. RJ shook his head slightly and refused to let her in. She couldn’t push further without hurting him, and that she wouldn’t do, so she stayed mute and aching and watched her son walk out of the kitchen toward the front door.

Baby, I love you, too! She thrust the thought after him, praying that her merciful God let him hear it. She thought she felt a quick pulse of acknowledgment, but then the sound of the front door closing echoed through the house.

It sounded like her heart shattering.

* * *

When letters started coming from RJ, Randall threw them away.

Pearl found one by chance when she took the kitchen trash out to the curb. Normally, Randall performed that chore for her, but he was busy watching some talk show, and she didn’t feel like bothering him over a small bag of trash. It had just become easier and quieter to tie up the bag and take it outside herself.

The evening air carried the first crisp hints of winter as she made the short walk to the curb. It was November already, and soon the stores would start putting out their Thanksgiving displays.

Pearl wasn’t sure what they’d do for Thanksgiving. She certainly wasn’t in the mood to cook a big meal for just Randall and herself. Maybe she’d invite some of the ladies from work to join them...but if she were honest, that sounded even more exhausting.

Can’t we just skip the holidays altogether this year? she wondered mournfully as she set down the bag and lifted the lid of the trash can. My baby’s gone to war; my husband and I barely speak. What on Earth do we have to be thankful for?

As if in answer to her thoughts, a gust of wind rushed down the street, fluttering the hem of her dress and pulling at the flat metal trashcan lid. Pearl cursed and used two hands to wrestle the suddenly sail-like object back under control, and as she did so, a white envelope caught her attention on top of the canned trash. The wind eased off, so she set the lid down next to her bag from the kitchen and bent to retrieve the envelope. It sat atop a small pile of advertisement mailers and what was probably an election solicitation from the district attorney’s office. But the top piece of mail was different.

RJ’s name and a military postal service center address occupied the return address lines. The envelope was addressed to her.

Fury at her husband erupted like an acid volcano within her chest, only to be quenched by a flood of grateful relief. Tears burned in her eyes. Her boy was all right! He’d written to her, and the postmark was only a week or so old!

Her hands shook as she tore at the envelope, ripping it open and pulling out the folded sheet inside. RJ’s not-quite-neat script scrawled across the page, and she angled it toward the brightening streetlight so she could read his words.

Dear Momma,

I was hoping I’d get a response to my other two letters, but I know you’re busy. I’ll just keep writing, and if you can reply, then great. If not, well, like I said. I’ll just keep writing.

Things are pretty good here, now that I’ve moved on from Boot Camp to more advanced training. The other day, we got to go out on our first helicopter flight. It was so cool, Momma. I know you flew in those bombers back in England, but I’ve never felt anything so exhilarating! We flew just above the level of the treetops for a while, and then even dropped down lower than that! These pilots said that in Vietnam, the birds (they call the helicopters birds) have to stay low to avoid being seen and shot from the ground. I think they might have been trying to scare us.

I miss you, Momma. The food here is filling, but it sure isn’t your cooking. I’m working really hard in my training, and I’m doing pretty well. The guys here are alright, and I’ve made a few friends, so don’t worry about that.

I had to stop earlier because they called us together for an announcement. Looks like we’re heading out a week earlier than planned. I was hoping maybe Dad wouldn’t mind me coming home on leave during that time, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’ll write you more details when I can.

I love you. Take care of yourself and Dad. I know you always do. Love,

Your son,

RJ

Pearl drew in a deep, shuddering breath and pressed the letter to her chest. She closed her eyes and sent a fervent prayer heavenward, thanking God for his tender mercies and repenting of her earlier ingratitude. Then she squared her shoulders, opened her eyes, and refolded the letter. She tucked it into her bra, and tossed the envelope back into the trashcan, before covering it with her own kitchen trash and the lid. Then she wiped her face clean of tears and headed back inside.

Pearl, Randall called from the living room as she entered the kitchen by the side door. Everything okay?

It’s fine, she said, schooling her voice against showing any of the smoldering anger she felt toward the man she loved. I just took the trash out.

I could have done that, Randall said, appearing in the doorway from the hall.

I didn’t see a need to bother you. I’m all done in here. I’m going to bed.

Baby, Randall said, his voice soft, his eyes worried. Are you all right?

I’m fine, Randall. Pearl sighed, pushing past him out into the hallway. I’m just tired. Goodnight. Be sure to lock up.

* * * * *

Chapter Two

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Excuse me, Mrs. Coleman?

Pearl dug in her handbag for her keys as she walked the last few feet toward her front door. Normally, she had them ready to go, but the early December sun had been pouring light and joy down on the world below, and she’d been reveling in the warm respite from the rainy winter.

She would remember that later: how the sun shone down like a benediction as the two men in green Army dress uniforms got out of their car and walked toward her.

Yes? she asked, giving them a smile. Can I help you?

As they approached, she could see that the taller of the two men wore gold oak leaves on his shoulders. He had green eyes, silver in his eyebrows, and close-cropped blond hair. Behind him, his shorter, dark-haired companion wore a silver cross above his left breast pocket. It glinted in the sunlight and made Pearl’s eyes water.

Ma’am, I’m Major Esby, and this is Chaplain Burke. May we come in? the major said.

Yes, of course, she said, keeping her smile firmly in place. I was just getting my keys...

Is your husband at home, Mrs. Coleman?

Pearl looked up from her handbag again. Her hands shook, making the whole bag tremble.

He should be arriving any minute now. He usually drives up just as I’m walking in the door. Here they are! she said, pulling the keys from the bag. Just give me one second.

She walked up the final steps to the door and glanced over her shoulder at the road. No sign of Randall’s car. Her hand still shook, jingling the dangling keys as she put the correct one into the lock and turned it.

Pearl squared her shoulders and pushed the door open. The major helpfully put out a hand to hold it for her, and she went in, flipping on the light and opening the front curtains to let some of that glorious sunshine in.

Can I get you gentlemen something to drink? Some sweet tea or something? she asked.

"Ma’am, if we