Red Ice

by William Dietz

  Once they called the flight Parker followed a line of people out through a door and onto the tarmac beyond. The C-17 Globemaster III, or “Mighty Mouse,” was 174 feet long and had a wingspan of nearly 170 feet. The plane was powered by four Pratt & Whitney engines. They would get Parker to Spokane, Washington in five hours give or take.

  As Parker followed the line out to the plane she was struck by how normal everything appeared. Even though battles were raging in Asia, the Middle East, and Europe, Eielson remained an island of tranquility. And that was good because the next Red Flag exercise was coming up fast. Some people thought the program should be cancelled so that the participants could join the fight. Others believed that cross-unit training was a critical investment that would payoff later on. Parker was one of them.

  Parker followed the line up a ramp into the C-17’s cavernous interior. Crates occupied the center of the cargo bay and inward facing seats lined both bulkheads. Open seating allowed Parker to grab a spot in back which, as every pilot knows, is the safest place to be in a crash.

  Not that Parker expected a crash. But who knew? The truth was that Parker didn’t like to fly, not unless she was at the controls. Did that make her a control freak? Probably.

  Once Parker’s seatbelt was fastened, and her earbuds were in, she closed her eyes. Would anyone notice the way her hands gripped the seat as the transport took off? No, she didn’t think so.

  The flight was uneventful—for which Parker was thankful. Security had been increased since the beginning of the war which meant her mother couldn’t drive a car onto the base. After the plane put down Parker had to take a shuttle from the terminal to the off-site parking lot where her mother and other civilians were waiting.

  Mary Parker had been pretty once. Parker knew because she’d seen the photos. But a marriage to a bad man, followed by decades of drudgery, had left their mark. Now she looked puffy and tired. After a brief embrace Mary pushed her daughter away. “Look at you … So pretty! Even in a pair of overalls.”

  “It’s a flight suit, Mom.”

  “You won’t wear it to the funeral will you?”

  “No,” Parker said patiently. “I brought a dress. It’s in my carryon.”

  “Good. Let’s go home and change. The service is at 4:00 PM. I told your uncle to push the time down in case your plane was late.”

  The next half hour was spent catching up. Life in Spokane was increasingly difficult. Mary had been planning to retire from her administrative job at a local tech company. But the corporation had a “mission critical” contract to assemble components for a top secret weapons system. And the company’s CEO wanted Mary to stay on.

  There was rationing too, on everything from gas to eggs, so Mary was considering the possibility of building a chicken coop. Then there were the relations. Parker was an only child, but part of an extended family, most of which was dysfunctional in one way or another.

  And as Parker listened to her mother describe the latest goings on, she was reminded of why she had joined ROTC. A free education was part of it, but so was the opportunity to escape her family. College was followed by flight school, a tour in the Med flying missions over Syria, and a handsome pilot named Greg. There was a whirlwind romance, followed by marriage, and a return to civilian life. “Major Mom.” That’s what Greg called her.

  But Greg’s death in a car accident left Parker without him, without children, and without a job. And that’s where the offer from a company called OpenAir came in. OA had a contract to supply the air force with so-called “Aggressor Squadrons,” which could replicate what it was like to engage Russian aircraft like the Su-30. And, in some cases, OA could provide actual aircraft for American pilots to hone their skills on. The company’s collection of MiG-21 fighters was a good example of that.

  Of course the Red Air planes were worthless without pilots who knew how to fly them. So after Greg’s death Parker signed with OpenAir, spent three months in training, and was rewarded with a “graduation ceremony” held in a bar. That’s why she was living and working at Eielson. The Red Flag exercise was coming up, and OpenAir was going to supply “bad guys” such as herself. “Here we are,” Mary announced, as they pulled into the drive. “What’s it been? Six months since you were here?”

  “Something like that,” Parker agreed, knowing that her mother wanted her to come home more often. The ranch style three bedroom house was more than twenty years old, but well maintained, and a symbol of what Mary had accomplished all on her own. “I like the red geraniums,” Parker said. “They make for a wonderful splash of color.”

  The interior of the house was clean, tidy, and frozen in time. Pictures of Parker hung everywhere. There were photos of Parker as a cheerleader, Parker as a ROTC cadet, and Parker as a pilot. But there were no pictures of her with Greg. Why was that? Mary claimed to like him. Yet not a trace of her daughter’s marriage could be seen .

  Had Mary been lying? Or was she hoping that a new man would appear? One who wouldn’t want to see pictures of his predecessor. There was no way to know other than to ask … And Parker wasn’t about to open that door.

  “You can change in your room,” Mary told her. “We’ll leave at three.”

  Parker walked down the hall and into a room that was decorated high school style. Lady Gaga posters were taped to the wall next to a montage of jet fighters. Pom Poms hung from the bed frame, glassy-eyed animals stared at Parker from a bookcase, and running trophies lined a shelf. How many times had she urged her mother to get rid of that stuff? Dozens. But nothing changed.

  After shedding her flight suit, Parker slipped into the simple black dress she’d brought for the occasion, plus some matching heels. Then she looked in the mirror. A pair of green eyes stared back at her. They were steady, and what else? Wary? Yes. And for good reason. The only thing she was sure of was war—and the part that she would play in it.

  The weather was good—and Parker’s family had agreed to a graveside service. It took thirty minutes to reach the cemetery. It was well kept and surrounded by an eight-foot tall wrought iron fence. A gently curving street led them through an acre of grave markers to the point where a hearse and a line of cars were parked.

  Maddie Struthers had been Mary’s mom, and a positive force in Parker’s life. “You can ride a bike, you can pull a 4.0, and you can get through college.”

  It didn’t matter what Parker aspired to, Maddie was sure that her granddaughter could achieve it. Or said so anyway. And Parker loved her for it. Now after 84 years of life, it was time to say goodbye.

  Relatives were there to greet Parker, to tell her how good she looked, or to inquire about her job. And Parker did her best to be sociable. But it was difficult. They were part of the past. And if Parker had a family other than her mother, it consisted of the pilots and ground crew she worked with.

  The minister was a middle-aged man who, to his credit, had actually taken the time to learn something about Maddie’s life. Family anecdotes had been woven into a well-constructed eulogy that brought people to tears. Then, at Maddie’s request, he read a poem titled “And you as well must die,” by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

  And you as well must die, beloved dust,

  And all your beauty stand you in no stead;

  This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,

  This body of flame and steel, before the gust

  Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,

  Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead

  Than the first leaf that fell, this wonder fled,

  Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.

  Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.

  In spite of all my love, you will arise

  Upon that day and wander down the air

  Obscurely as the unattended flower,

  It mattering not how beautiful you were,

  Or how beloved above all else that dies.

  There was more. But nothing so moving. Once the service was over people mingled for a while, tra
ded stories about Maddie, and shed an additional tear or two. Then came the awkward hugs, the inevitable goodbyes, and the silly stuff. “We’ll see you soon! Send me a picture of your plane … Dress warmly!”

  Mary appeared at her side. “Are you ready to go?”

  “No,” Parker replied. “I want to visit Greg’s grave.”

  Mary nodded. “I’ll meet you at the car. ”

  Parker knew the way by heart. Greg’s resting place lay outside the boundaries of the family plot, but not far away. Parker knew that if her husband existed, he was elsewhere, and free to live whatever kind of life was available to him.

  “Until death do us part.” That phrase seemed like a not so tacit admission that regardless of what people might hope for—relationships weren’t forever.

  Would there be another? Could there be another? Yes. A year and a half had passed since Greg’s death. And, if the right person appeared, Parker would welcome that. But not now, she told herself. Not until the dying is done.

  Parker knelt in front of the headstone, kissed her right index finger, and placed it on her husband’s name. “Watch your six, baby … Fly safe.”

  Mary eyed Parker as she entered the car. Looking for tears? Probably. And a lot of them had been shed during the months since Greg’s death. But an equilibrium had been reached. And when Parker returned to Eielson she’d be looking forward, rather than back over her shoulder.

  Mexican food, especially authentic Mexican food was hard to come by in Alaska. So Mary took Parker out to eat at Mama’s, which was one of their favorites. The restaurant was crowded and noisy, but the food was wonderful.

  The initial conversation centered around Mary’s job, and her decision to put retirement off for a year. Then the discussion turned to Parker, and her situation. “Where will they send you?” Mary wanted to know. “Will you be an instructor? Like you are now?”

  Parker knew that was what her mother was hoping for. So she said, “That’s a possibility. I should know more within the next thirty days.”

  “What have you got planned for tomorrow?” Mary inquired.

  “Nothing much. I thought I’d sleep in and goof off. Why do you ask? ”

  “Danny called. He heard you were in town … I said you’d have dinner with him.”

  “You what?”

  “You dated him in high school, so I figured you’d like to see him.”

  “You figured wrong,” Parker replied. “Danny is a nice guy, but I don’t have those kind of feelings for him.”

  Mary looked aggrieved. “So you’re going to dump him?”

  Parker sighed. It was impossible to dump someone she didn’t have a relationship with. Parker didn’t want to hurt Danny’s feelings though. And that put her in a difficult spot. “Okay, I’ll go to dinner with Danny. But stay out of my love life. Do you read me?”

  Mary made a face. “You sound like a military officer.”

  “I am a military officer.”

  “You’ll have a good time,” Mary promised. “I know you will.”

  Parker made no reply. The conversation felt forced after that, and Parker was happy when the dinner ended. True to her word Parker slept in the following morning. Then, after a shower, she made her way to the kitchen. A note was taped to the fridge. “There’s plenty to eat, take whatever you want. Love, Mom.”

  So Parker fried some bacon, scrambled some rationed eggs, and sat down at the kitchen table. A small TV occupied one corner of it. Mary’s dinner companion? Yes, and that was sad. But no different from the way you live, Parker thought, as she turned the set on.

  CNN appeared. And, not surprisingly, the news was focused on the war. Thanks to the use of drones the networks could show their viewers what was taking place in ways that hadn’t been possible before. So the public could watch from above as an American tank company ground forward, artillery shells rained down around them, and a battalion of infantry followed behind.

  “The Russians are waiting just over the next rise,” the narrator said. “The Russians have more tanks than we do … But allied planes own the sky. And that should make an important difference. Casualties are expected to be heavy as NATO forces attempt to push the Kantemirovskaya Tank Division out of Latvia …”

  A shell scored a direct hit on an American M1. Parker watched in horror as the tank exploded, the turret lifted off, and a gout of flame shot straight up. She couldn’t stand anymore and turned the set off. Would she wind up in Europe? She’d do her part if so. And the allies would win if they could control the skies.

  Parker’s food was cold by then, and her appetite had disappeared. Parker took the plate to the garbage. She felt guilty about the eggs.

  Later Parker took a cab to the mall, went shopping for things that were hard to find in Fairbanks, and was shocked to see so many empty shelves. She’d heard about hoarding, and widespread shortages, because of the war. Car companies were producing army vehicles. Clothing companies were sewing uniforms. And decaying steel factories were coming back to life. Parker left the mall with half the items on her list.

  After eating lunch at the mall Parker returned home and took a nap. When she rose it was time to get ready for the date with Danny. He was right on time. After a polite chat with Mary the couple left.

  Danny had always been into sports and cars. So Parker wasn’t surprised to discover that he was driving a Cadillac Escalade. “The war started three weeks after I took delivery on it,” Danny explained sheepishly, as he opened the passenger side door for her. “And there’s no market for SUV’s now. So I ride my bike to work.”

  “That sounds like fun if the weather is good,” Parker replied. “Where do you work?”

  “At the Cadillac dealership,” Danny replied with a smile. “I sell Escalades.”

  Danny closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. Parker watched him get in. He was in good shape. Danny had been a standout football player, and that’s how they met. Parker was a cheerleader, and Danny was the team quarterback, as memorialized in lots of teen movies. Except that Danny wasn’t an egotistical jerk, and Parker wasn’t a mean girl.

  They’d never been close though … Not the way some high school kids were close. Maybe that had to do with the fact that Danny had plans to stay in Spokane, while Parker wanted to leave.

  The dinner went better than Parker thought that it would. Danny was still nice, if somewhat unsophisticated, and getting ready to enter the Marine Corps. “I’ll be heading off to boot camp in a week,” he told her. “How ‘bout you? You’re on active duty I suppose.”

  Parker explained that no, she wasn’t, but soon would be. The conversation turned to old friends after that, what they were doing, and what they wanted to do. Danny was still in touch with the old crowd, which made him a font of information. Most were supporting the war effort in one way or another. One girl however, the one everyone called “The drama queen,” had made a place for herself in Hollywood.

  When dinner was over, and they were about to leave, Danny cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming. I just wanted to say how special you are, and that the times we had together meant a lot to me. I should have told you that back in high school, but I was afraid to. Now, well, it’s time to tidy up.”

  Parker felt a lump form in her throat. Danny had been in love with her. And, as he entered the marines, he was saying goodbye. Why? Because he expected to die. “Thanks, Danny … That means a lot to me. I’ll be thinking of you. Do you like pushups? I hope so.”

  Danny forced a smile. “You’re going to outrank me.”

  Parker nodded. “Yes, I will … So watch your step.”

  They laughed and Danny took her home. Parker waved as he drove away. Would Danny survive? And how about her? Parker pushed the thought away as she turned and entered the house. Mary was seated on the couch in the living room. “So,” she said. “How did it go?”

  “It was good to see him,” Parker replied. “He’s joining the marines.”

  “And?”

  “And
nothing,” Parker replied. “I’ll see you at five in the morning … My plane leaves at seven.”

  Morning arrived all too soon and, due to gas rationing, traffic was light. As before Mary was forced to enter the off base parking lot. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I love you, Kathy … Take care of yourself.”

  It had been no different when Parker had left for the flight school and the Middle East later on. Parker leaned in to kiss a cheek. “You too, Mom. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  Then, knowing that short goodbyes were the best goodbyes, Parker got out of the car. She waved as Mary pulled away. Parker looked up as a delta winged F-15 Strike Eagle roared overhead. The weekend was over. The war was waiting.

  Chapter Four

  Chantilly, Virginia, USA

  M ornings were always the same, and Lori Okada liked it that way. With rare exceptions she awoke three minutes before the alarm went off, rolled out of bed at exactly 5:00 AM, and was out the door by 5:15. Her run was five miles long. That put her back in the apartment by 6:00. Then it was time to check for text messages and email. Not the ones from her mother in San Francisco. Those could wait.

  The messages Okada looked forward to were from the mysterious PaulT. They’d met on line, but had never met in person, and Okada wasn’t sure why. Was it the way she looked? Something she’d said? Or was PaulT a jerk? Whatever the reason the sonofabitch had her on an intermittent reinforcement schedule, and it was working.

  But, maybe there was a reason for PaulT’s frequent absences. Maybe he was a spook. CIA (Central Intelligence Agency) headquarters weren’t that far away, and a war was raging, so anything was possible. No , Okada told herself. Chances are that he’s a professional gambler, a drug dealer, or an escaped convict. Her mail came up. Nothing. She sighed.

  The rest of the routine consisted of taking a shower, getting dressed, and eating a quick breakfast. Then she left for work. Okada’s car was the same six year old KIA her mother had given her as a high school graduation present, and she’d driven throughout college. It would have been nice to have something newer, but NRO analysts weren’t overpaid, and the Washington D.C. area was an expensive place to live. So the KIA would have to do.