When Lance walked into the squadron meeting Monday morning, he was greeted by a sideways glance from his commander. Lieutenant Colonel Santiago was a bull of a guy with thick muscles and thinning hair, relaxed until he had to be otherwise, and he’d kept a sharp eye on Lance since the wedding hadn’t happened.
“Morning, sir. Happy to be here today.” It was the same thing he had said every morning since he’d shown up for work when he should’ve been on his honeymoon. But since he’d never had much urge to visit Scotland for any reason other than it being Allison’s dream vacation choice, missing thetrip itself hadn’t been a burden. If anything, he felt guilty at the sense of relief that had overtaken the pain at the loss of his fiancée. Now, though the commander had put him back on flying duty, it was habit to tell the older man that he was fine. “You hear we took home the pumpkin-chucking trophy this weekend?”
“Heard you beat a bunch of girls.”
His cheek twitched. He would’ve liked to shove the phrasea bunch of girlsinside a pumpkin and chuck it over a cornfield likeDr. Kaci Boudreaux had done to those BCGs.
For Cheri’s sake, he told himself. His sister put up with more shit for being a female fighter pilot than he would ever understand. “Just barely, sir. Got lucky, honestly. They had a hell of a catapult.”
“Hell of a leader too,” Pony said.
Several of the guys snickered. And the murmurs of “crazy as fuck” and “hotter thanhell” made his cheek twitch harder.
He ignored the banter and settled into one of the last open stiff plastic chairs facing the projector. The rest of the room was lined with photos of C-130s signed by crews on various deployments since the squadron had been stood up.
Beside him, Pony was flipping through his phone. The colonel stood and cleared his throat, and the guys quieted and focused their attention up front.
A slide flickered to life on the screen. Lance’s heart thunked down to his boots.
“Think you all heard,” Colonel Santiago said, “but in case you didn’t, our regular rotation has been delayed a month.”
“What thefuck?” Lance muttered to Pony. Nearly six months until he could get out of here?Dammit.
Pony grunted. He was supposed to leave in two weeks. Six weeks now, by the soundsof it.
“Shove it,” Flincher said on his other side while other groans and mutters went through the room. Flincher was a ruddy guy with Irish roots who’d buy you a beer so he could show you pictures of his little girl, and he was right behind Pony in seniority in the squadron. He fiddled with his platinum wedding band. “My wife’s due when we were supposed to get back.”
One of the hazards of military life.
Allison hadn’t filled in any more details on why she’d wanted out, but Lance was certain his uncertain lifestyle had been one of her issues. When push came to shove, she hadn’t been willing to get on the roller coaster.
The colonel cleared his throat again. “We’re switching up our normal missions this week to compensate for the change in schedule. Make sure you check the boardto see when you’re flying.”
The colonel’s weekly briefing went like clockwork after that. The usual messages from base leadership, a safety briefing about keeping your head out of your ass, quarterly award nomination packages were due soon, don’t push it on bottle-to-throttle time or crew rest. “One last thing,” the colonel said. “Heard from the training squadron. They’re expecting a shortage of applicants for instructor pilot slots in the next two years. Don’t want to lose any of you here, but I want smart pilots in my birds. You think you’d be a good IP, come talk to me.”
Figured.
Only job that could get him moved early, and it would take him half a mile down the road instead of across the country.
Be good for a guy like Flincher though. Keep him home with his family for a few years.
The colonel dismissed them. Everyone stood and stretched, moving about the room, but Lance nudged Flincher. “Want to switch?”
Flincher looked him up and down. “Switch?”
“Rotations. You’re delayed. I want to get the hell out of here. Can’t solve you leaving a newborn, but I can help you be here when the kid’s born.”
Flincher’s bushy red brows bunched. “You serious?”
“Be doing me a favor, man.” Get out of here in six weeks instead of six months?Hellyeah. “Might talk to Juice Box too. He’s on the third rotation. Could get you a few more months.”
“I’m due for orders by then.”
Twenty minutes later, the colonel had approved the idea, and the paperwork was in motion. When Lance settled down to his computer in the line of cubicles in thesquadron room, he was actually whistling to himself.
He was flying this week, and he’d be getting the hell out of dodge in six weeks. “Weather good?” he asked Pony while he logged on to his email.
“Not raining beer,” Pony replied with a grunt. He was flipping through a webpage with kegs on it.
