by Laer Carroll
"Hey! Where are we going?"
"We've almost passed all the way through the city. The rest of it is this way."
After maybe 15 minutes the city had opened out again and there was still no consensus on a snack place. They passed a Walmart SuperCenter and Jane pulled into a lane that let her do a U-turn and head back the way they'd come.
"You are such a lame bunch. We passed a dozen places with still no decision. You're military. Come up with a military solution."
There was silence. She suspected glances were being exchanged.
"OK, Captain Kuznetsov. Where are we going?"
"I'm not-- OK, I see. This is revenge for me insulting your miniscule minds. OK. You asked for it."
Up ahead on the left was a pizza place. She checked traffic and made another U-turn at the next cross over. But just before the pizza parlor was a sign pointing right: RED'S COUNTRY STORE & BBQ.
A quick right, a fast city block of side road, a quick left, and there it was. A block of parking lot with a large building in its center. She pulled in to a covered set of fuel pumps in the front of the restaurant and parked. There she refueled the van, which hardly needed it. While she did that she eyed the dining place. It looked OK.
Every one had gotten out while she was doing that to stretch their legs and look all around. Jane got into the van and left them--just long enough to park a few yards away.
She got out and approached the milling group.
"Atten-SHUT! Fall in!"
The eight cadets eyed each other. Then The Princess moved to directly in front of Jane six feet away, did a smart turn to face Jane, and braced to attention.
"Sir, yes, sir!"
The rest of the group paused a few seconds and then quickly arrayed themselves in a two-by-four square with The Princess as their front corner.
"Salute!"
In perfect unison drilled into them by shouts just like hers they saluted sharply.
"Sir, yes, sir!"
She returned the salute, held it, then snapped her arm down to her side, her thumb aligned with the seam of her jeans.
She walked across the front row, down its side, and back across the rear. She returned to in front of them.
"I have never seen such a sloppy group. The fucking ARMY could do a better job. The fucking SWABBIES could do a better job. The Marines--Heaven help me--the Marines would die laughing."
"In good order enter the designated chow location. Drop out!"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
Inside the place was large, bright, and cheerful with high ceilings liberally decorated with signs and red walls. A couple of dozen people browsed two shopping rooms on the right of the entrance, the nearest one retail and one wholesale further back toward a hall for restrooms.
On the left were dining areas, two inside and a third just visible through windows on a patio area. Only a few of the tables were occupied at late afternoon, but the size of the three areas promised large crowds later in the evening.
A waitress or greeter approached Jane. "What'll it be, Captain?"
"I'm...." Well, best not to confuse the civilians.
"I think we want to look around for just a little bit, maybe buy a few items. We're just in to the base and getting used to the area. But we definitely want a full meal shortly. We're on different time zones and late for chow."
"Yes, sir. Red's will be happy to accommodate you."
Jane browsed too but bought nothing. The same was untrue of the others. Finally a few of them migrated to Jane.
"When are we gonna eat, Captain?"
She scowled at the speaker, a tall blond who might have Viking ancestors.
He adopted an innocent look. "How can we simple-minded souls manage without a Cap-tain?"
The Princess grinned at Jane. "Face it, Kuznetsov. You're stuck for tonight as commander."
Jane accepted that she was not going to soon escape the joke. She looked around for the others. Only three of the eight were still browsing the area.
She waved to the greeter or waitress. She hurried over.
"There'll be nine of us for dinner. That enclosed area looks good."
"Right this way. I'll have the waitress bring menus and water."
The area Jane had pointed to held about a dozen picnic-style tables of a polished blond wood with the board seats attached to the table. One side had narrow tables suitable for three, the opposite-side long ones suitable for ten FRIENDLY people. Jane chose the latter style of table.
By the time the waitress brought menus and two water pitchers and glasses for nine all the cadets had crowded onto one of the table. She poured water into each of the glasses while the cadets chose their meals. It was quickly obvious there were not going to be any snack orders.
"Tokyo Boy" (who said his name was Riku Kobayashi, or Ricky) held up a bottle he'd bought.
"They have two bottles, Red's Bar-B-Q Sause, which is hot, and this." It was named Sissy Sause. "Get it. Hot and mild. I love it."
"It's misspelled."
"No it's not. It's a neologism. Invented words by definition aren't misspelled."
That occasioned a lively debate about which everyone had an opinion. Except Jane. Somehow it seemed right for the "Captain" to remain above argument.
When the food arrived several people exclaimed at the size of the proportions, both meats and vegetables. Tokyo Boy, Ricky, said, "Hey, it's Texas. Everything is bigger here."
As they ate, a long slow meal, everyone got acquainted. They all had at least seen each other. The Academy had 800+ students in each of four years at any one time but it was a small place. Too, the interests and needs of those serious about becoming pilots tended to bring them into similar study areas.
Jane, it turned out, was known both for her music and for her rescue of her instructor when he had a heart attack while the two were flying. Her accomplishments didn't set her apart from the others. All were exceptional. Several had some artistic or technical or athletic fame.
The Princess (Katherine or Kate Schiller) had sung opera in a Philadelphia orchestra, for instance, and Viking Boy (Anthony Andersen) had been a phenomenal quarterback in high school and been approached by several colleges to play NCAA football.
They lingered over iced tea or soft drinks afterward.
Ricky said, "I really don't think I'm up for much. But damn it it's still too early to go home.
Anthony/Tony said, "When we turned right to come this way at the corner was a movie theater."
A few people groaned but agreed they had to do SOMETHING before returning home (if that was OK to their driver). Jane nodded.
The movie was agreed upon, mainly because no one could think of anything else, so after everyone paid for their meal then re-embarked in the "Prairie Schooner" (which had somehow come to be the name of Jane's van) and two miles later disembarked at the theater.
It was a fairly new (or recently refurbished) seven-theater multiplex. Inside out of the warm Texas air they checked out the selections. They were a drama, horror, two comedies, two comic-book action franchises, and the latest space movie.
They debated splitting up but decided to stay together. It was more fun seeing a movie that way--and it was no fun, no one admitted, to see a movie alone in a strange town.
That cut the choices down. They finally decided on the 6:45 movie since it was the next movie coming up and they would not have to wait long before it.
It was the space-adventure movie. Not exactly the most favored choice for nine would-be military pilots but better than nothing.
On the way back to the motel most agreed it had been a lucky choice. The technical deficiencies had not been too great ("At least there were no rocket engine sounds in vacuum"). And the characters had actually been believable and the story made sense.
"But, still," Ricky announced as they drove up to the front of the Laughlin Manor, "I miss those Grrrrrr tie-fighter sounds in Star Wars."
<>
The next morning Jane waited outside the Manor in her van for the fi
rst cadets to leave it. Several came over to chat with her but took the school bus the base sent to pick them up. Thus she had only five cadets with her when she pulled up at the briefing auditorium, the last of the thirteen who'd come with her from the Academy.
The auditorium was almost full when she brought in the last of the cadets since she'd had to park the van around to the side of the building. She was not late, so wasn't worried about that, but expected to sit in the last row. Instead when she came in Ricky was waiting just inside the door.
"Quick! This way!"
She hurried after him and came to where all of the cadets sat together, fourteen people of perhaps a hundred wanna-be pilots from all over the US. In the middle of them was an empty seat waiting for her. Ricky pushed into the row and took a seat at the edge of the group. Jane passed him with a touch on his shoulder to thank him and took her seat.
"Just in time!" said The Princess/Kate. As it proved to be; less than a minute later a master sergeant in camo fatigues came onstage, tested the microphone on the podium, and said into it, "Atten-SHUN."
Everyone rose as the base commander came onstage, a lieutenant colonel in fatigues like everyone else in the room.
She examined the standing figures for a moment before commanding, "At ease."
She uncapped a plastic bottle of water but did not drink from it. Jane took note of the theater of the action.
"Welcome all to the eighth Laughlin Open House for pilot candidates. As most of you know, Laughlin has been in operation since 1943 and a training base since 1952. It's one of three such Air Force bases. Eight years ago we began the Open House under my successor."
She named him and outlined the next five weeks. Each pilot candidate would have a chance to take the controls under the watchful eyes of instructor pilots.
"You'll actually be flying those planes though the instructor will have and use a cutoff if you begin to go wrong. And it is likely you will. But don't let that make you too timid up there. A LITTLE risk is a good thing. It means you are pushing your envelope."
She gave a quick overview of the five weeks, then said she expected to hear great things of them. She nodded minusculy to the master sergeant waiting in the wings of the stage. He stepped into view and called Attention. The audience stood and stood at attention while the commander left the stage.
Next the Open House visitors were directed to proceed to their first briefing. The cadet contingent left as a group and double-timed to the class rooms for that. They sat together there.
There were many details to be put in place before the pilot candidates would be allowed into a cockpit and into the air. One of them was an interview.
<>
"Cadet Jane Kuznetsov. At ease and be seated."
The interviewer was a slender fit captain who looked as if from Thailand or Vietnam but spoke fluently with a Southern accent.
He looked at her record and said, "I see you have a single-engine reciprocating license and a helicopter license. Useful. What are your goals at the Air Force?"
"Protect and Serve, all the Motherhood phrases, etc. Though I am deadly sincere about them, there are lots of ways to do that on the ground. But as far as the Air Force is concerned, I joined so I can fly fighter aircraft."
"A worthy though difficult goal. I wish you success; we're always short of fighter pilots.
"Now--" He looked down at the tablet displaying a form she'd filled out.
"You have made an unusual request. Besides familiarity with fighter craft, you ask to have check rides in 'the oldest flying training aircraft.' Why is that? Do fighters scare you?"
She grinned. "Nothing scares me, sir. Not bragging, just objective fact. I seem to be deficient in that emotion."
"A dangerous lack."
"I know it. Doesn't keep me from being cautious."
"So why make this request?"
"Two reasons. One is calculation. Everyone wants to get in fighter jets at least once, including people who never could handle one, even those who know it. You'll wash those out pretty quickly and into transports or reconnaissance or whatever. That leaves more flying time for the rest of us. For me.
"Second is something I read once. The latest craft are so automated they slow learning the subtler and more important skills that you learn when you are closer to the bare realities of flight. Older recip craft give you that. I still have much to learn about flying."
"Wise. Though you seem to have learned some of those realities, judging by your record. Here is what your single-engine instructor said on the license paper work Baker Air flight school submitted.
"'Natural pilot, born to fly. Smart, skilled, cool in emergencies.'"
He looked up at her. "Understandable perhaps in someone who may owe you his life. But there are similar statements on your helicopter license."
She just nodded.
"OK, we'll go with that request. I hope you don't regret it when all the others are bragging about what they did in a fighter.
"Now this is an even more unusual request you made. To be familiarized with search-and-rescue craft stationed at Laughlin. If you want to be a fighter pilot, why this request?"
"You obviously have a summary of what I did when Jimmy--my instructor--had a heart attack. That scared me--"
"I thought you didn't feel fear."
"For myself. I do for others. Anyway, while I have all this time available I thought I could learn more about taking care of emergencies. You must have a pretty good team here, with all the flying."
"Yes, we do. We have an especial fondness for them. They have saved our bacons--saved us from BEING bacon--a number of times. We call them 'The Wild and Woolys.'"
He clicked a virtual button on his tablet display and stood.
"Done. And I wish you Good Luck, cadet. Dismissed."
<>
The near-100 pilot candidates were brought together for a half-hour briefing about overall procedures then broken up into three groups, one each for the T-6 turboprop general trainer, T-1 twin-turbofan craft to train airlift and tanker pilots, and the T-38 twinjet supersonic craft used to train fighter pilots.
When Jane got to the classroom for her initial familiarization there were only five other class mates. Two sat together, the other three apart. Jane said a cheery Hello to them but got back only one grumpy Hi. The rest just looked at her with unhappy eyes.
Secretly she smiled. Obviously they had hoped to be placed in a fighter trainer or cargo trainer aircraft.
The instructor came in, letting the door slam behind him. He stood at the podium looking at the six young people. They looked at him: a skinny major nearing retirement age, rather distinguished looking with grey sideburns.
"Fucking wonderful. A bunch of rejects wasting my time."
Jane said, "No, sir. We all elected to be here and are here to learn something. If you intend to give a half-assed inferior briefing that will get half of us killed, get out of here and go fuck yourself."
"What did you just say?! You could be disciplined for disrespect to your superiors!"
She held up her smartphone. "The same goes for an officer who seems willing to do a bad job of vital training."
She continued to hold up her 'phone with its recording of the conversation so far.
He glared at her for long minutes. She stared back with the look on her face that she'd learned she adopted when she was prepared to go into instant deadly attack, frozen, target-focused, almost unblinking.
"Oh, put that fucking phone down. Record all you want. But get out your fucking 'SuperSmart' phones and your tablets and bring up the first page of the briefing you see on the whiteboard."
Jane looked through her vear at the 'board. There was a scrawled but legible net address. She focused on it and blinked rapidly twice to activate it. She saw a web page come up as the room lights sank to half-normal brightness. A video bloomed in her vision, three dimensional, showing the propeller aircraft in action: taking off, climbing, turning, doing simple aerobatics, on a groun
d-approach run firing bullets and missiles, and finally landing.
"This is what you'll be flying tomorrow. Why do we have our pilots learn to fly on such a primitive craft when more modern craft are so much more capable, physically and electronically? Because it IS primitive. It forces you to become more fully aware all the elements of flight and how we must act to keep them under control.
"Another reason is that it is also a very forgiving aircraft. You need that because you are so likely to screw up when you're beginning. Modern supersonic jets are so fast, respond so quickly to events, that it is hard to keep on top of what's happening and control it.
"Now let's look at the basic parts of the T-6 that you must understand."
With well-done visuals he went through details of airframe, control surfaces, engine, cockpit seat, the pedals and yoke controls, and other elements. Jane had memorized all the material but what he added was understanding of them.
After that they took a bathroom and snack break. Then they continued with practices.
At the end of two and a half hours he ended the lesson and told them to get a good night's sleep. Because tomorrow they'd have to put into practice the theory they'd learned today.
Jane had been so focused and IN the material that she'd almost been in a dream. She woke from the dream and began to slowly rise and leave the room.
The instructor caught her before she exited. She rounded on him, prepared for an attack.
Instead he said, "I've a question, Cadet Kuznetsov. I researched you while the video was playing at the beginning. The rest of them obviously don't want to be here. You lied about that. But YOU do. Why?"
She hesitated.
"I'm reluctant to say. It would sound too much like parroting your words."
"Say anyway. Please." He sounded as if he genuinely wanted to know her answer.
"When I was working for my licenses and in the air I felt as if--this sounds fantastic but it's true--I felt as if I wasn't myself any more, and the plane wasn't itself any more. It felt as if together we'd become some greater being, not human, not machine, another kind of life."
She shook her head.
"Put that way it sounds like a drug high or a sci-fi movie. Sorry."
