Fly, Chapter 1&2

Hello you beautiful people. I am still getting some rides in, but I've also started a night EMT class. It will be running until December so I don't have much time for blogging. Instead of letting the blog sit fallow, I'm going to post my war novel a couple chapters at a time. I started it when the Ukraine war was a new thing and never did anything with it. So I now present you...Fly.

Our battered EV pulled into the lot across from the army base and parked next to a ‘24 Ford Bronco. I regarded the Bronco as the first significant  model to roll out after the covid pandemic and also the last to roll out before car production ceased for the war. It was an automotive time capsule. 

My wife got out and walked to the passenger side to open the door for me. Not as an act of chivalry, but because a replacement interior door handle was impossible to find. She took my hand as we walked to the gate. It was nice to see the girls, I said. I’m so proud of both of them. I felt her squeeze my hand. Yeah, they are both working so much, she said. I’m glad you got to spend some time with them, they really miss you.

And how ‘bout you? I said, do you miss me? She let go of my hand, and fire flared in her eyes. Are you really going to do this? Right now? That’s how you want to leave? No, look, babe. I stammered, I know you miss me, it would just be nice to hear you say it is all, or say you love me, just once in a while.

Oh you are unbelievable! She said in disgust. You know what? I can’t do this. Just go. 

Babe I’m sorry, I tried to grasp her hand again, but she pulled it away. Then she turned and looked into my eyes, I do love you, I wish you would realize that. Just go do your thing and come back to us in one piece. I tried to kiss her but she turned her head and I kissed her hair. Then she started walking back to the car. I watched her get into the car and drive off. My gaze hung on the Ford Bronco for a few more seconds, then I checked in at the gate.

I found my teammate Kurgan inside the defensive wall of the compound. He was sitting hunched over on his duffle bag, elbows on his knees. His freshly shaved head reflected the morning sun and his thick, tattooed arms poked out of a black Ramones T-shirt. I approached him and he continued staring at the ground. Well you look perky and rested, I said . He looked up and I got my first view of the purple and blue bruising that puddled under his right eye. I did an exaggerated flinch and said, dammmn.

Cowboy bar? I asked. Yep. How many? Three of them. I said, you know, some people leave the frontline to get away from conflict for a while. He stood to his full height and I looked up into his bruised face. And yet, he replied, conflict always seems to find me. I smiled and said, funny how that happens. 

He shouldered his duffle bag and we started to walk towards our barracks. He asked, Did you have a good time with your family? I huffed, yeah, speaking of conflict. We entered the building, sandbags lined the walls. We dropped our bags at our bunks, and a third bunk lay empty. Kurg looked at his watch, I thought he’d be here. Yeah, I looked around, where is that little meatball? 

Other soldiers came through the door, but none were our FPV pilot. Kurg and I talked for another ten minutes about the things we had done on leave, then we noticed a soldier enter the building and head towards us. Shade and Kurgan, Lt. Clancy wants to see you.

We were led into the CO’s office and asked to sit down. I’ll get right to it, the Lieutenant started, On Saturday your FPV pilot, Specialist Dylan Simms died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. The room was silent for a beat, then Kurg slammed his fist on the CO’s desk. Are you kidding me? I took shrapnel in my back protecting that fat fuck and he goes and blows his own brains out?

The Commanding Officer shot an angry look and Kurg took his fist off the desk. I put my hand on Kurg’s shoulder. Sorry sir, this is an emotional shock to both of us. We had no idea Simms was suffering from suicidal tendencies. The CO had a folder open on his desk, he glanced at a paper. No, I agree with you this is surprising. His last psych eval shows no indications of any issues. Unfortunately we just can’t see what’s inside someone's head. Until you can, Kurg muttered. The CO ignored him, So you two have been working with Simms for..almost two years, is that correct? Yes Sir, I worked with Simms in 5th Air Recon Division. Then when we broke into three man teams, he and I were paired as spotter and pilot. Kurgan was assigned as our overwatch.

Clancy focused his attention on Kurg. Specialist Kurgan, where were you before joining a drone team?

Kurgan cleared his throat loudly, 63rd Mechanized Infantry sir. Lt. Clancy grinned, no kidding? I started in the 63rd. Kurg didn’t smile back, he just said, yes sir I’m aware of that, due to the big plaque on the wall behind you. Lt. Clancy looked over his shoulder and turned back smiling, That’s right, go Razorbacks. 

The CO picked up a smart phone and shot a quick two thumbed text to someone. As I’m sure you soldiers know, we can’t afford to lose another team, so I’m assigning you a new pilot. I’m not gonna sugar coat it, he is as fresh as a spring tulip. You can choose to view this in one of two ways. The first is that he’s a bed-wetting newb who won’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Another way to see it, is that he carries with him no bad habits and has the potential to learn a lot from two seasoned veterans. 

There was a quiet knock at the door. Lt. Clancy stood and walked towards it, Kurg and I both stood up. Lt. opened the door and introduced us to Private Preston Karapetyan. He was skinny and a little under six foot. His black hair was approaching the limits of regulation length and starting to become a head of curls. His brown skin matched with dark eyes and a dark mustache hinted at middle eastern lineage. He wore a crisp new uniform and I could see a black ear guage in each of his ear lobes. He stood up straight and his eyes darted to the Lt. then to each of us. I said, I didn’t know they still made Prestons, it’s nice to meet you. Kurgan said, welcome to world war three, sorry we started without you.

CHAPTER

We loaded our bags in a golfcart and drove to the quartermaster. Preston asked where the mess hall was and the showers but the ride was mostly quiet. We entered the px and were greeted by our trans quartermaster Huxley. Shade and the Kurgan! She called out as we entered, Where’s Cheech? Cheech didn’t make it back from leave. Kurgan put a finger gun to his head to demonstrate.

Complicated looks were exchanged as Huxley understood the situation and gave a solemn nod. And who’s your little friend? Kurg proudly placed his hand on the new pilot's shoulder and announced, this is Preston. Huxley made a funny expression and said, huh, you guys ran out of cool callsigns already? He doesn’t have a callsign yet, I explained, maybe you can help him out Hux. Close your eyes, then look at Preston and when you open them say the first thing you think of. Huxley closed her eye’s revealing purple eyeliner, then opened them and said, shish kabob.

Preston laughed, uhh, can I think about that one? I like it, Kurg said, maybe just Bob for short?

Huxley picked up an iphone and tapped the screen, here’s the invoice for your next load out. Kurg and I both pulled out our phones, opened the list and started scrolling. I sighed, still no night ops drones? Huxley put her hands up, I tried. I perked up as I swiped a little farther, Oh! You got more rotor blades. 

Then it was Kurgan’s turn to gripe. What the fuck! No .50 cal ammo! Maybe this week, Huxley replied. Lotta good that’ll do me. Huxley looked at Kurgan and said, whaa, big baby.

 What flavor Rip-its? Pineapple and strawberry-peach. Gross, no cherry? 

An item on the list concerned me. I held up the phone screen and pointed, the grenades?

Are those German DM51’s or knock-off grenades? 

Sorry, Huxley shrugged, Polish knock-offs. 

Shit Huxley, I said, if I blow my hands off with your shitty grenades, I’ll be expecting you to help me out in certain situations.  Huxley rolled her eyes, and said, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Oh, Kurgan, your new Aimpoint scope came in. Yes! Kurgan pumped his fist.

How ‘bout you new guy? Can I grant any of your wishes? You probably vape huh? Preston nodded, Yes sir,ma’am, sir, he blushed. Kid you can call me anything you like, just don’t call me late for disco. I’ve got bad news and good news for you. We only have one kind of vape, but you can have as much of it as you want.

Bullshit, I said, and they both looked at me. You can have as much as you need, not want.  How long does a pen last you? I asked. Preston thought for a moment and said, usually about four days. Ok, well you’re gonna cut that in half to start, one pen, eight days. Preston actually made a pouting sound and started to protest, But, it’s free right? So how does it matter? I held up my hand to pause him, I counted to three in my head and tried to speak in a voice that didn’t sound angry. Look, neither of us smoke or vape. I gestured to myself and Kurg. So if you run out we can’t help you. Sure there's a bunch on a pallet right there, but that’s not our bunker. 

Let me tell you one thing from my experience, I continued. A smoker on half ration can be annoying, but a smoker who’s out of smokes is dangerous, to himself and his team. See what I’m doing here? I’m not trying to get you to quit vaping, especially if it helps you fly. I’m trying to help you establish a usage rate that is sustainable for the long term.

I looked at Preston and tried to read his expression, he seemed frozen. I couldn’t tell if he was scared or confused or just fine. I proceeded with caution. So, do you understand where I’m coming from? I’m not trying to be mean, or be a dick. I just want to transfer useful information to you. I don’t want to sound condescending. I turned to Hux and Kurg, guys did I sound condescending? That means to talk down to someone. Huxley flipped me off and said,

you don’t sound like dick, you sound more like a football coach…who’s a dick. 

Huxley’s eyes brightened and she gave a sly grin. Oh, I see what’s happening. This is a classic case of grouchy old man doesn’t know how to communicate with a young man. Cheech was what? Like thirty-five? So that was a little easier.

Huxley was relishing the awkwardness of the situation and wanted to exploit it further for entertainment. How old are you kid? Twenty? Twenty-one? Preston responded, I’m nineteen. Huxley covered her mouth and gasped. OMG, he’s a baby! And he’s going to live with you two withered old pirates. This is gonna be hilarious. 

Preston spoke up, It’s really ok, I don’t mind old guys, my dad is old, he’s like fifty. Huxley was grinning. No kidding? Shade, didn’t we just celebrate your fiftieth?

Preston looked over at me, I felt like I was now on the spot. So I changed the subject. I cleared my throat and said, Huxley, the list looks good. Get that stuff packed for us. Oh, he’s gonna need some cold weather gear, at least a jacket. Huxley said, right, let’s find you a jacket. I have a thick one with a hood, or I have this lighter one with fleece inside. Preston, asked, do you have a jacket with those battery pack heaters inside?

I pushed both of my palms against my eye sockets, Jesus jumped up christ! You are not getting a battery powered jacket. Preston looked deeply offended. I scoffed and said, Hillary climbed Mount Everest in wool and cotton. Preston turned to me and said, I don’t know who that is, but  I bet she would have liked a heated jacket if she could get one.