Flying Monkeys

by Tymber Dalton

  I really need to take care of making that apology to them sooner rather than later.

  The four of them would pull out at 07:00 hours. And now, it was after 21:00 hours and she realized suddenly how utterly and completely worn out she felt. All the changes and excitement—and personal revelations—of the day had exhausted her. After saying good night, she settled in, alone in her new office quarters, and quickly felt sleep overtaking her.

  While she missed sleeping in the Panda, she wouldn’t miss having other eyes on lookout while she slept, even though she’d been on a secure base.

  El Segundo had been secure, too.

  So they thought.

  And as horrible a commander and officer as it made her, for once it would be nice to fall asleep without every square inch of her surroundings reminding her of the three people who’d taken a quick trip across the base for toothpaste and tampons and deodorant and chewing gum and never made it back.

  * * * *

  Force of habit more than anything else, Kyong was awake again at 05:00. She was still alone in the office, the other bedroll neatly made exactly as it had been the evening before.

  Grabbing her shower kit, she headed for the bathrooms. As she was reaching for the door it opened, startling her and Foxtrot, who was on his way out and freshly showered. A wave of shampoo-scented, steamy air rolled out behind him.

  “Um, sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.”

  Every apology she wanted to utter locked up tight in her throat at the underlying hurt tone in his voice. “It’s okay. No problem.” She slipped past him and into the bathroom, quickly shutting and locking the door behind her.

  I really need to fix this with those two.

  A night’s sleep had done wonders for her perspective. She’d gotten off on the wrong foot with them. Yes, Foxtrot’s initial comment had rubbed her the wrong way, but it hadn’t been intentional on his part. He’d had the mission first and foremost on his mind, and she couldn’t fault him for that.

  She could blame only herself for her overreaction in the truck, even though he had been a jerk.

  She hadn’t exactly made this easy on him.

  Hell, it was 2143. Her military history told her a hundred and fifty years ago, women had it rougher than men in the service. Between sexual harassment and even rape, to little things like being passed up for promotions and training because of their gender. She didn’t have that problem in this day and age. Especially in the past year, when the military threw every available resource into their efforts to save the country and the whole world from the Kite threat.

  The average, non-assholish man in the modern US military never assumed a woman wasn’t as good as he was in most ways. Yes, they frequently had a size and strength advantage, but there were plenty of women in the upper brass, DIs and base commanders, down to combat infantry troops comprised of equal numbers of women to men.

  She didn’t need to haul this particular chip around on her shoulder. Especially not with Foxtrot. Or Kilo. That the men were SOTIF1 spoke to their skills and abilities. She doubted she could have made it through what they had to become a unit member.

  If anything, in this case, they had the moral high ground because they’d earned their way in.

  She’d been adopted by the unit because of her plane and orphaned pilot status. Pure dumb luck.

  After her shower she tidied up her gear, shouldered her messenger bag, and headed downstairs to eat. Pandora was already in the kitchen and getting breakfast ready for everyone.

  She flashed Kyong a friendly smile. “Sleep well, Captain?”

  Kyong reached for a plate. “Yes, thank you.” The scrambled eggs and sausage smelled far better than base fare. She hoped they tasted as good as they smelled.

  She grabbed a mug of coffee to go with it and took her mess kit over to a table. Moments later, Victor, Zed, and Echo had joined her, all three dressed in casual uniforms and ready to leave as soon as they finished breakfast.

  Victor carried a small ruck slung over his shoulder. “Flight suit,” he said, hefting the bag. “We’ll need to get them suited, though.” He indicated the other two men.

  “I’m sure Mal can hook us up when we get there,” she said.

  The four of them were sitting together in a small clump and talking when Foxtrot and Kilo emerged from the stairwell and headed for the kitchen. She didn’t know if they’d glanced in her direction or not, but she almost willed them to look her way.

  Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer. “Hold on. I’ll be right back,” she said, getting up to follow them.

  They were just grabbing their own food when she came up behind them. “Hey,” she softly said.

  They both turned, guarded expressions on their faces.

  “Look, let’s start over, okay? I don’t want things to be weird between us. It’s not been a good time for me. I know you guys have a lot of things going on. We just got off on the wrong foot.” She stuck her hand out. “No ranks or titles, just Kyong. Or K. Please?”

  Kilo nodded and shook first with her, finally rewarding her with a smile despite the guarded caution still hovering in his handsome blue eyes. “Deal, Thank you. Sorry we didn’t put our best feet forward.”

  “And that I stuck them in my mouth,” Foxtrot mumbled, shaking hands with her.

  She wouldn’t let go of his hand, chuckling a little at his comment. Until he finally lifted his gaze to hers. Sweet, dark chocolate brown eyes that matched his caramel skin quite well. “So how many languages do you speak?” she asked, maintaining contact with him.

  The wariness wouldn’t leave his expression, and for that she felt exceptionally guilty. These were men used to fighting with every ounce of their being, and yet she’d hurt their feelings. “Vietnamese, but I’m also fluent in French.”

  “No Spanish, huh?” She wouldn’t let go of his hand, desperately hoping she could win a smile, even of the lowest wattage, from him.

  Finally, that did make him smile. “No Spanish, despite what everyone thinks.”

  She adopted an accent. “Hey there, now. So, ah, how does a good boy from Minahsoohtah end up speakin’ flooent Vietnamese, eh?” His Vietnamese accent in the truck had been dead on, exactly like Tuan’s, while Foxtrot’s normal speaking voice sounded nothing like him. Even thinking about how he’d sounded, despite the content of his words, sent chills up her spine.

  It was as if he’d channeled Tuan. Same inflection, everything.

  His smile broadened as his voice slipped into a full-on caricature of his home state’s distinctive accent. “Oh, yah, I had a best friend growin’ up, eh? Lived right next door to me, doncha know. His family, dey all spoke it. Uff da, sorta picked it right up, yah know, gosh darn it.”

  Now she laughed. And it warmed her heart to see some of the wariness leave Foxtrot’s face, and Kilo’s, too. After a final squeeze of Foxtrot’s hand, she released him. “Thanks for giving me a second chance, guys.”

  “Aww, yoo betcha. Thank yoo,” Foxtrot said, still in his accent.

  “So, we good?” Kilo asked.

  “Yeah, guys. We’re good.

  * * * *

  Relief filled Kilo. He knew it wasn’t anything but a good start, but he’d take it. If it wouldn’t have looked too damn goofy, he would have hugged Foxtrot right there for finally getting something right with this woman. When she left the kitchen, he patted his partner on the back.

  “Thanks, dude. I appreciate you fixing that.”

  “Oh, yoo betcha, but I didn’t do nuttin’, eh? Doncha know.”

  Pandora, who’d quietly observed the whole exchange while cooking, burst out laughing. “Ah, geez,” she said, exaggerating her Chicago accent. “Here we go. Ya bedder getcherselves dem dere plates ah food before it’s all gahn.”

  “What, no brats?” Foxtrot asked her, picking up her accent.

  She grinned, dropping the heavy accent. “The only two brats I’m looking at are standing right in front of me.” She lowered her voice.
“Maybe you guys might have a chance with her after all, if you can keep her laughing.”

  Kilo hoped she was right. They filled their plates, but by the time they made it out to the dining room, Kyong and the other three men were finished and heading back to the kitchen to wash their mess kits.

  “Heading out?” Kilo asked, wishing they were going with them.

  “Yeah, need to cram as much into them as I can.”

  “That’s what she said,” Zed joked, making her laugh.

  Kilo fought the urge to slam his plate of food into Zed’s face. The man hadn’t meant anything by it. He was just cracking a joke. A very common joke in their unit, even before the women joined up with them.

  Holy crap, I really need to tone it back. “Be safe,” Kilo said. “See you all later.”

  “Roger roger,” Echo said. “We’ll keep her safe, don’t worry.”

  Kilo was glad it’d been Echo who’d said it. He didn’t read any lascivious tone into the taken man’s voice.

  Had it been singles Victor or Zed, however…

  That might have pushed him over the edge. “See you later,” Kilo said.

  She smiled at them before she shouldered her messenger bag and left with the men.

  Moments later, Doc wandered in, a small box of Kite test strips in his hand. “I missed them, didn’t I?”

  Foxtrot held up his thumb and index finger, almost touching. “By that much.”

  “Well, chances are they’re clear, but you guys know the drill.” He glanced at the kitchen and smiled. “Not like they’re going to bite anyone,” he called out.

  Pandora’s head popped out of the kitchen and she flipped him a bird. “Hey, you bite one goddamned guy and never hear the end of it. How come you don’t tease Clara about castrations?”

  “Because some of us don’t mind being bit every once in a while,” Doc playfully shot back to his woman. “We’re just selective about it and don’t go doing it to strangers.”

  He handed out the test strips to everyone, who, predictably, tested clear. In the early days, Doc did all the testing for their unit, a strict regimen performed upon waking, when returning from a mission, or even if only having contact with the outside world.

  But now that the disheartening truth had sunk in—the test strips weren’t good for all strains of the rapidly mutating Kite—the urgency had worn off. Doc had survived a mild strain of the virus. Sucked that he’d gotten sick to start with, but the antibodies in his blood had allowed the three scientists to come up with an experimental serum they’d successfully tested and inoculated everyone with.

  It was a start, but not nearly a good enough of one.

  What they needed was a vaccine against the deadlier strains.

  And today, Kilo and Foxtrot were being sent out with several others on another recon mission to look for the missing woman, Korey. In civvie disguises, they were going to try the homeless shelters, free clinics, and soup kitchens in the area. Another team would go out that night and canvass yet another region.

  Foxtrot poked Kilo in the shoulder. “Did you hear me?”

  “Sorry, no. What?”

  “Florida. Don’t we have to worry about hurricanes and shit?”

  Not this again.

  At least it got Kilo’s mind off the subject of Kite or Kyong. “Low surface sea temps, and an El Niño in the Pacific. Plus there’s been a lot of Saharan sand in the atmosphere. All’s quiet on the tropical front.”

  “Hmph.” Foxtrot let out a dramatic sigh. “I catch malaria or some shit like that, I’m blaming you.” He took a sip of his coffee, but Kilo spotted his smile.

  “Sure. You do that. I’ll take the blame.” But it meant his partner had finally come to terms with the eventual move.

  Maybe now with that out of his system they could focus on trying to get to know Kyong better before two of their fellow unit-mates did.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The ride down from Seattle, with Echo driving, proved drastically different than her last journey with Kilo and Foxtrot. The men were chatty, asking her questions about the plane, filling in details about their own skills, and in general providing a more comfortable, friendly atmosphere.

  She didn’t even feel an air of sexual tension from any of them.

  She wasn’t sure if that disappointed or relieved her.

  Whatever fake IDs the three men were using, the MPs manning the gate at McChord didn’t give them a second glance after scanning them. They stick tested them and waved them on through.

  At the hangar, she took them in to meet Mal, who was, predictably, at his desk.

  Turning in his chair, he fished a new toothpick out of the box of them on his desk and stared at them as he chewed on it for a moment.

  “They don’t look like flyboys to me,” he pronounced.

  “That’s what I need to do, turn them into crew. This one”—she pointed at Victor—“actually is a helo jockey. But yeah, these two need flight suits. Can you dig them up some?”

  “Sure. I’ll send a guy over to the QM.” He handed her a pad of paper and pen, which she passed to Echo. “Write down your sizes, all three of you, so you’ll match,” Mal said. “I’ll have him run them out to you on the flight line.”

  That handled, he gave her the keys to a Jeep. “Take that one. I’ve had them prep the Panda for you, and already cleared your exercises with the tower. Told them you’d be doing at-will touch-and-go’s off and on today, as well as some training flights. Won’t be any questions.”

  “Thanks. It’ll be at least an hour or more before we’re ready to taxi out.”

  “Just let me know and I’ll have the guys unhook her.”

  She led the men out to the Jeep and they got in. A minute later, they were pulling up next to the plane. She parked the Jeep away from it, in the grass where it wouldn’t have to be moved when they finally got the Panda underway.

  After stowing their gear inside, she started with a detailed external walk-around, not just a pre-flight check but a maintenance-level inspection.

  To her relief, the three men all appeared to be fast studies, none of them slipping up when she’d pop-quiz them on something she’d already covered. By the time she was ready to move to the plane’s interior, she spotted a Jeep speeding their way. Sure enough, it was Mal’s guy, with three small duffels of gear for them.

  Including, she laughed to see, mirrored shades for the men.

  “He thinks of everything,” she said.

  Zed stared into his bag. “We gonna need diapers to fly this bird? Because I don’t see any in here.”

  “Nope. She has twin heads. Even has a small galley nook. Nothing fancy, nothing big, but we’d been camping out in her over at—”

  The unexpected grief swelled in her throat, sharp and explosive, choking off her words.

  “Sorry,” she said, quickly turning away from them. “Give me a second.”

  A memory had slammed into her brain, their first night at El Segundo, spread out on the floor in the hold with the back ramp and side doors open. Other than noises from the flight line and city around the base, it’d been cool after the heat of the day, despite the acrid tang of smoke in the air.

  “Someone put in a call to the front desk for a wake-up and room service,” Maggie had joked.

  Darrel had snorted from his bedroll. “How ya want your eggs, chica?”

  “Scrambled, like your brain.”

  And they’d all had a laugh at the old inside joke the four of them used at nearly every stop.

  Their voices still sounded sharply clear in her mind.

  She closed her eyes, tears painfully prickling, threatening.

  Will. Not. Cry.

  Mourn? Yes.

  Cry?

  No.

  Not a single tear. Not over Tuan, and not over them.

  She was not a crier. That had been beaten into her as a kid by the bullies, trained into her by Tuan who told her if she let them see her cry, it just made them want to go after her more.
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br />   Plus, she knew if she started, she wouldn’t stop.

  Only when she knew she could hold it together did she turn and face them again. The three men wore equally concerned expressions that made her falter and wish Kilo and Foxtrot were there.

  She wouldn’t deny that despite their rocky start she already had an affinity for them that she didn’t feel toward any of these guys.

  “Sorry. What was I saying?”

  Victor looked like he wanted to get to the bottom of whatever she’d reacted to, then stopped himself. “You were going over the facilities.”

  “Right.” She would feel forever grateful to him for handing her the easy out. “You guys get those flight suits on, and we’ll start going over the interior systems and controls before we head to the cockpit.”

  * * * *

  They still hadn’t lifted off by the time they grabbed lunch in the base’s mess hall, but she had finally finished going through everything with them, including the cockpit controls. After lunch they’d lift off and she’d go through takeoff, flight, and landing procedures with them.

  By the time she called it a day at 17:00 hours, she felt exhausted, but relieved. Not like she’d turn any of the three men loose with the Panda on their own, but the SOTIF men had earned her respect by retaining everything she’d taught them, asking intelligent questions, and displaying in their aptitude one of the reasons why they’d earned and deserved their SOTIF unit spots.

  They were good, they were multitaskers, and they were anything but one-trick ponies.

  What they weren’t, however, were Lee, Maggie, and Darrel.

  She’d had to train other C-160 pilots and crews before, but it had been a while and now she found herself struggling to remember every little detail, things that had become automatic second nature to her but needed to be explained to them so they could absorb it.

  Things she’d never needed to remind her crew about, because it was trained into them, too.

  “If you guys all have tablets,” she said, “you can download the ops, procedures, and system manuals and go through them tonight to prepare. A lot of the stuff we won’t be using for the big flight we’ll be making, but it’d be good to know, just in case and for future reference.”