by Laer Carroll
Her numbed thought was first that they'd misspelled 'hauler.' The second was that the PR event was for her.
"Oh, no!" She covered her face with her hands.
The Captain, coming forward smiling, said, "Not quite the happy reaction we were hoping for."
He led her back to the group. Under the direction of the photographer he arranged her in the middle of the group to his left. This let him reach his right hand across his body to present her with a document prominently displayed to the camera. To his right was the First Sergeant and to her left stood Lieutenant Lopez. The photographer took several photographs after ordering slight changes in their positions.
Meanwhile Jane was wonderingly turning over in her mind the fact that she now had a military license to fly any cargo plane in the Air Force, after she had passed a flight simulation familiarization suite for a particular model and had a check flight on it.
After the photographer left a Champagne bottle was popped open and everyone issued a splash of the wine in a plastic glass. She was required to cut two cakes into tiny slices and serve them, meanwhile getting congratulations and kidding. In the midst of the festivities she was issued yet another document, a comic version of the real one. It was made out to TRASH-HAWLER KLUTZNUTZ.
Chapter 13 - USAF Academy - Summer 1
Fighter Pilot
An hour later Jane was free of further duty until Monday morning when she was to report to the fighter training organization. She walked out to the flight line and to the hangars where the fighter instruction aircraft lived on the ground.
As she neared the facilities she saw one of the aircraft entering a hangar and another on the flight line ready to take off. Its engine began to wind up and the noise increase. She took her red earplugs out of a pocket and put them in her ears. This close to working aircraft--there were several on the field or coming in to land--the noise could damage one's ears.
She admired the fighter trainer taking off and the one entering the hangar to be park for the weekend. It was basically a smaller version of the old but still in-service F-16. It was based on South Korea's T-50 designed by partners Lockheed-Martin and a South Korean company and made in the US in Greenville, South Carolina. They had been only a few years in service because of several years of lawsuits by Boeing whose aircraft had been the main competitor to the T-50.
She walked closer to the fighter hangars and was halted by an airman. He was wearing an undershirt not his uniform shirt so she couldn't tell his rank but from his age he was likely a sergeant. He was standing smoking in the shadow of the nearest hangar.
"Hi, kid. Coming to admire our pretties?" His manner was casual but not his inspection of her rank tabs and the ID badge everyone in the active areas of the base was supposed to wear.
"That's right. I was let off early and have to wait till later so I can take my friends home when they get off."
"I don't blame you. They ARE pretty. But then I'm prejudiced. To me just about anything that flies is pretty."
"Even the 'Warthog'?" The name was the unofficial one give to the A-10 Thunder Bolt II. It was a very tough aircraft designed to fly "low and slow" and support ground troops. It had a blunt nose and straight wings and tail and so was ugly to many of the fighter pilots who were (to their minds at least) the elite of the Air Force.
He nodded, ground out his cigarette in a trash can tacked against the building, and motioned her to walk with him. In the quieter environs inside the buildings he and then she removed their ear plugs.
"Let's get some coffee or that sissie drink tea if you're so inclined and I'll give you a little tour."
She grinned at him. "I'll have sissie tea, thank you very much. I'm a girl and we are by definitions sissies, being female and so sis-ters."
In the snack bar instead of coffee the sergeant punched the buttons on a drinks dispenser for a Coke and she followed his example. When in Rome etc.
He lead her to a cluttered office with a big window onto the work area and motioned her to one of the seats in front of the desk while he sat in a chair on the other side.
"Especially the Warthog. It's perfectly designed for its function and so pretty to me. It's damned pretty to the ground pounders when they're in the boonies and pinned down by some ass-hats. They're about to piss their pants and wish they'd writ home to say 'I love you' when they hear the Buzzsaw. That's what they call that big-ass rotary cannon it's armed with. It makes a sound just like a buzzsaw and can slice up entire buildings and send the ass-hats to their just reward."
He shook his head and took a sip of his drink.
"I love the Air Force but some of the higher ups have their head up their ass. Every few years they try yet again to get rid of the Hogs. Dumb fuckers. Sorry little lady."
"I've heard the word before, Sergeant. I've even used it on appropriate occasions."
He punched a button on the keyboard on his desk, apparently to awaken the computer and computer screen it was attached to.
"It says here that you're assigned here starting Monday. Hmm." He was speaking to himself now more than to her.
"Yeah. I thought I remembered it right. You came in, asked to fly the T-6 and not the latest and greatest, and got your junior license in one effing week. That caused some bent noses, let me tell you. It takes a year for most people."
"I already had a single-engine license. That cut the time down considerably. And I got really interested and did a lot of overtime."
"Quit trying to justify yourself, Cadet. You have what it takes and did the work and you were justly rewarded. Something that doesn't happen nearly as much as it ought to."
By now Jane had figured out that the sergeant, whom she'd called Sergeant only because of his age, was the First Sergeant of the training flight. In the heat he'd been wearing his under shirt and not his over shirt which would have had his stripes.
He looked at what must be her record for several minutes without saying anything. He seemed to be friendly so Jane felt no need to worry about the silence. She said nothing, just sipped her Coke and looked out at the controlled chaos of the work crews tending their craft and other concerns.
"So. I'm pretty much caught up with you." The Sergeant had turned away from his computer screen and leaned back in his chair.
"To get ready for next week I suggest you download the tech manual for the plane from the secure database. Don't bother to memorize the details. Just skim and skip so you can get an overall idea of its capabilities and flight procedures specific to it."
"Too late. I already downloaded and memorized it. Not that I understand most of it--"
"You MEMORIZED it?! All 1000-something pages? Oh. Yeah, your record said you've got one of those freak--uh, trick memories."
"It's not as big a deal as the movies make out. It doesn't matter whether you've got a manual physically in your hands or called up on your vear or seeing it inside your head. If you don't understand it it's worthless to you.
"In fact, a freak memory as you call it can be a liability. You can get totally lost in all the details."
"Hmm. Well, OK, like I said, skim and skip and get the overall picture. Then come in Monday morning, at 9:00 not the crack of 8:00. It takes the Boss, and me for that matter, an hour for the coffee to work its magic. We'll show you around one of our babies on the ground and take you up for a half hour."
"OK. Say, I notice you've got one of the T-38s in the hangar. I thought those were phased out."
"PhasING out. Boeing has sued the Air Force because we chose another craft. Several times. So we're only getting a dribble of new craft and still have that 38 and another in the adjoining hangar. We still teach using them, using it for basic training then going to the T-50, or whatever we end of labeling it, for advanced training."
"It's a gorgeous little aircraft."
He glanced at his watch. "We've still got an hour to quitting time. How'd you like to go up now?"
"Great! I have to wait till 5:15 at the earliest before getting with my friends
and going home."
"You got your headgear nearby?"
"In my van a couple of blocks away."
"Go get it and meet me here." He waved at the hangar interior outside his windows and door.
She got up and quickly walked out.
Master Sergeant Brian Ralston texted his superior.
Got Kuznetsov in office going to take her RanAFB for a check ride.
When he returned from his rest room for a leak and to swap his uniform for a flight suit he had an answering text.
OK.
Jane, having swapped into her flight suit in her van with the windows semi-opaqued, met him as he was selecting a parachute and other equipment from an equipment room and signing them out. Without prompting she did the same. Then they walked across much of the hangar to the adjoining one and went into the door to it.
Inside it were two other T-38s. Jane slowed for a few seconds when she caught sight of them. Then she changed.
Inside her Robot awoke fully and integrated with its human. The human's infinitely slower neural system took many milliseconds to complete the integration. Then Jane was no longer just herself. She was Jane+Robot, a cyborg.
If the Sergeant had been watching her closely he might have noticed a change in her walking gate, already the effortless action of a skilled athlete at the peak of her health, to something even smoother and more graceful. Or he might not. Only another cyborg would be sure to.
"Hey, Woody! We're taking out Number Two!"
Across the hangar space near a console where a work gang was checking over a suite of equipment another sergeant answered. "Got it! We'll keep her bunk warm for you!"
As soon as Jane+Robot saw to which aircraft the First was headed SHE reached out to the vehicle with HER now-mature electrical field.
Every smart powered vehicle is always on though its cybernetic brain is powered 99.99% off. Jane+Robot integrated the T-38 with HERself and became Jane+Robot+Aircraft.
JANE intuitively understood the process which SHE'd just undergone, but SHE only thought of it as becoming Calm Jane rather than Usual Jane. While HER robotic reflexes were operating trillions of times faster than HER brain they were in HER subconscious. She would have said if SHE had bothered to navel gaze that SHE had gone into HER Groove.
A couple of airmen, one a woman and the other a man, came over to assist their boss and one of his students. They rolled a laddered platform to beside the aircraft positioned so that whoever stood on the top of it could step into either of the forward or rear cockpit.
The Sergeant told Jane to do a walk-around, meaning a visual inspection of the outside of the T-38. SHE did so, touching it here and there almost as if, the Sergeant thought, SHE was gentling a horse.
"Looks good, Sarge."
"You take the front seat. I've got your back. You are pilot of record for this flight and I'm your second in command."
"Ah, Sergeant. I thought only officers could pilot Air Force craft."
"You'll learn, Cadet, that in these modern times there are always rules to cover everything. Even exceptions. And God know exceptions to the exceptions.
"In my case I can fly and have the records to prove it just about any craft in the Force. And I'm the First for this organization and have proxy command of it. So get your patootie in this bird and let's take it for a spin."
"Sir, yes, sir!"
Seated and plugged in to the T-38 JANE activated the craft, going through the physical motions instead of electrically activating Number Two which SHE'd have done if alone.
The hangar door rolled slowly in two split sections to left and right. One of the airmen took up orange batons and walked to the outside, surveyed the concrete in all directions, turned to face Number Two. He signaled Ready in ground-control sign language with the batons.
JANE gently moved the throttle forward and inched the T-38 out of its home. The airman backed up, making come-ahead motions, all the while looking all about for conflicting traffic.
When the craft was fully out of the hangar and nearing the aisle which led to the takeoff apron he skipped to the side out of the way of the craft and did a right turn. Facing down the aisle he signaled with the batons "Go thataway" several times.
JANE pivoted Number Two in the indicated direction. As the craft passed by the airman he put the baton in his right hand under his left arm and saluted her. SHE returned the salute.
It took long moments as SHE steered the craft to the Number Three runway and rotated it to down lane. SHE called the Control Tower which had earlier told the Sergeant in his role as navigator to go to that point.
"Laughlin Control, aircraft at Jumpoff Three, a T-38 number--" She read off the label on a big plastic sign glued to the console. "Ready for take off for our posted destination of Randolph Air Force Base."
Earlier the Sergeant had told her he'd filed a flight plan electronically with that destination.
"Roger T-38 you waiting for takeoff at Number Three Jumpoff for Randolph AFB. You going to bring us back a pizza, Kuznetsov?"
"Your cholesterol is too high already, Jason."
"Aww. Wait five, T-38. Wait five."
"Roger. Wait five."
It was less than that before JANE was given the command to roll. SHE eased off on HER brakes and began HER takeoff roll. It went as smoothly as it always did and soon SHE was headed for the service ceiling of nearly ten miles for the T-38.
JANE looked around in satisfaction at the potpourri jumble of earth far below HER. The land was masked by the regular array of small white cumulous clouds a mile above it. Above the sky was a deep blue edging toward black. The hazy blue far horizon was noticeable curved.
<>
The two airmen had watched the traveling of the craft to the takeoff point and its travel down the runway into the sky. When it was out of sight they returned inside the hangar and removed the big pair of "cans" which had protected their ears outside.
The woman crew member spoke first.
"That was her?"
"That was her."
<>
It was some time later that the lieutenant general who was the Air Force Academy Superintendent was interrupted by the colonel who was her Vice Superintendent.
"Sit, Anson. Kuznetsov on your mind, I assume."
"Yes, Sir."
"What's up?"
"She is. You know she's now has license as a 'trash hauler'?"
At her nod he went on. "From that ceremony she went over to the fighter training area and immediately became buddy-buddy with the First Sergeant. They took off in a T-38, did a flyover of Randolph, then of Naval Air Fort Worth, then Fort Bliss in El Paso.
"On landing she met him at his home for dinner and got friendly with his wife. Apparently she has adopted Kuznetsov as a sort of surrogate daughter."
"Good job, Anson. Keep it up. Now I've got to get back to this latest budget-- I'd better stop there else I use language which will turn your ears pink. Have a good weekend."
As he wished her the same she briefly wondered if there was indeed a threat in the wonder girl. Probably not, but Anson was one of her early warning sources and always worth listening to.
Another half hour and she'd staved off the wolves who wanted to bite off another chunk of her Academy budget. She turned to something which was, thank Goddess, routine and boring and hence soothing.
That done, she glanced at the clock in the upper right corner of her vear. It was not quite 1800. She shut down her electronics and left her office. Every other week night she worked late. Never on Friday. You neglected family and some day you ended up with no family.
<>
Jane's stay at the Sergeant's home near the southern expanding edge of Laughlin Base began pleasant and stayed that way. His wife Mary had been very inviting to her and the family of three other houses. The four houses were arranged in a square around a large pool. There was a covered area with a grill and outdoor kitchen plumbing.
In the day the heat around the pool area must be like an ove
n but in the early evening an hour before the westering sun set it was only a bit warm. Mary and Jane got acquainted then exited the house to join Brian and several other men. They had meat grilling and they were drinking beer and other drinks and arguing about some sports subject. A moderating breeze had arisen and Jane knew that by nightfall the temperature might drop enough to make bare arms uncomfortable.
There were lawn chairs clustered near the rear of each house where they opened onto the pool area. The pool was large enough that a family from any one house could remain separate, but the scattering of the chairs suggested these four families were friendly. It was like a little village, she thought.
Between the two further houses she could see a grassy lawn where some children were playing. They were around nine or ten up to young high schoolers in age.
A short distance from the grill there was a long table (two shorter ones end to end it turned out) where paper plates and plastic utensils lay. There were bowls of greens and potato and macaroni salad on the tables too. Mary led Jane there and introduced her to several women. It turned out she knew one of them, Betsy. She was the wife of the Search and Rescue First Sergeant and Jane had met briefly.
The woman embraced Jane, surprising her as their meeting had been so brief.
"So you finally ended up in the fighter group, I see. I'd wondered where you went after leaving my Alton's group."
Thus brought up, the subject of Jane's unusual time at Laughlin had to be explained: an Academy cadet who was part of the Open House initiative who was not so totally focused on flying the prestige aircraft of the Air Force that she was not interested in helicopters and transport aircraft.
Mary said, "Good for you, Jane. I always thought that it was unhealthy for everyone in the Air Force to practically worship our fighter pilots. Now, let me take you over to our Heap Big Hunters who are probably overcooking the meat."
Having met Betsy Jane was not surprised to meet again First Sergeant Alton Hollister. She greeted him with the reserve his position deserved and he smiled at her.
