Taking Flight: Departure

by Donna Faye

  A strange tremor ran through her body, almost like a jolt of electricity radiating from her chest outward to her limbs, passing through her nervous system. It was an unreal and completely foreign sensation. A moment or possibly a lifetime later, Stella looked higher and saw the telltale Smokey-the-Bear hat upon the man’s head. Her thundering heart dropped into her stomach. Darn it! She’d rammed herself face-first into a TI. Some first impression.

  Apparently, the man took pity on her, because he didn’t scream, or even speak. He just stood there with a quirked brow and look of humor on his face.

  Stella let out a little gasp that sounded like “eep,” and did an about-face before double-stepping her behind into the building where the other TIs directed them.

  Chapter 5: SNAFU

  - An anagram meaning Situation Normal All Fucked Up; a state of utter confusion and or chaos.

  What’s a smart, straight chick like me doing in a shower with thirty other women? Stella tried to become as small as humanly possible so as to not accidentally bump into any other naked women. They all stood, jam-packed as if riding on a Tokyo subway, while more and more women joined them in a steaming tiled room that measured about eight feet square. The area contained three shower heads on opposite walls. No doubt, if an award existed for most uncomfortable and awkward shower, this would take the cake.

  She shuffled from foot to foot feeling self-conscious, as she attempted to share a showerhead with about five other women. While she waited for her turn to rinse at the tap, she silently gave thanks that she’d managed not to drop the soap as she lathered her hair and body. Meanwhile several female TIs screamed through the doorway at them to hurry up, that it would be lights-out in fifteen minutes.

  She might as well be on the moon with the lack of comfort and familiarity that first day at Lackland. Stella had always kept a spotless home, but the Air Force took the notion of cleanliness to extremes. The smell of floor wax was so thick she could taste it in the air, and they’d scoured every surface to the point of sterilization. Also, the rules forbid trainees from sitting on their beds and the dayroom furniture – they had to earn that right. There was no casual conversation, and TIs yelled all instructions while they demanded everything be done in a rush.

  When they finally settled into their bunks for lights out, it was with a sigh and a flop – especially on that first night. Surrounded by strangers who snored and occasionally spoke nonsense in their sleep, while other strangers served as guards, relief and exhaustion competed for supremacy in Stella’s body. Day Zero had ended, and left her relatively unscathed.

  The stress of the unfamiliar situation reared its ugly head during bed check a little later, when a lady TI caught two younger trainees in the same tiny cot. Apparently, to avoid calling attention to their unfortunate situation, perfect strangers remained tucked in together. Big mistake.

  “What the hell have we got here?” she screamed. “Are you too stupid to know there’s another person in your freaking bunk? There are empty beds three cots away! Were you lonesome and needed to snuggle?” On and on, she cast aspersions upon their intelligence, especially their fearfulness and unwillingness to correct the situation on their own.

  Stella held no doubt that every one of the other groups, known as flights, in the training squadron heard the shrieking woman. Dogs in neighboring counties probably barked at the shrill sounds the tiny woman emitted.

  Stella struggled to maintain a straight face through the whole ordeal, which occurred in the bed directly across the aisle from hers. Did the Air Force send its training instructors to improvisational classes? All day their insults had been funnier than televised roasts. Maybe it was the sarcastic wit, but she fought to keep her laughter at bay and her eyes from rolling when others were disciplined for foolish errors.

  That night, despite the slight ringing in her ears from the ranting TI, Stella eventually fell asleep with the last thought being that she would be a long, strange trip.

  During Zero Week, the “Baby Flights” had no clue which end was up as TIs shuffled them all over base. The instructors’ job in the first week more resembled that of babysitter than military leader.

  The trainees in the early phase, also known as rainbows, stood out on base thanks to their civilian clothing, aka civvies. They wore their own clothes before their day at base supply where the Air Force issued their uniforms. Their outfits especially distinguished their wearers as colorful fish in a sea of camouflage, while their leaders marched them to the various appointments and kept wanna-be airmen in line. Once they had uniforms, there was no mistaking them for anything other than newbies with their bald heads and lack of rank, and military bearing.

  It was insane to think how many trees had to die for her to serve her country. Rubbing at her cramped right hand, Stella pondered how she’d never signed her name so many times or completed so much paperwork as she did during Zero Week. The flight marched all over base for in-processing, which included more routine physical examinations, optometrist and dental visits, copious amounts of immunizations, a TB test, and a visit to Supply for uniforms and other essential gear.

  Supply was an experience in and of itself. They walked through the gigantic building in a series of assembly lines where airmen measured trainees and procured whatever they needed from each section – there was a lot of gear to gather, so many queues throughout the hangar-like building. Trainees crammed their issued items into giant military duffel bags as they encountered each station.

  They each received four Airman Battle Uniforms. The ABUs are a light greenish-grayish camouflage uniform, each consisting of a long-sleeved top shirt with a sand-colored T-shirt and matching camouflage pants, as well as two hats in the same fabric as the ABUs. Along the line she received a pair of sage green suede combat boots, green socks (some thick and others thin), and a million other details including dog tags, the metal necklaces worn to facilitate identification if the airman is rendered unconscious. They were engraved with important information like full name, date of birth, social security number, and religion so caregivers could access the service member’s medical records or administer appropriate religious rites for the person if needed.

  They hefted their massive C-Bags, the giant green backpacks that’d been the first of their issued items, back to the dorm. Stella eyed the tiny road guards hustling to stop traffic ahead of their flight while weighed down by packs nearly as large as their torsos. The extra weight all but knocked them sideways, but no one complained – and after a lifetime of living with her narcissistic mother and ex, that was more refreshing than cold water in her canteen on a hot Texas day.

  Thanks to Audrey’s detailed tutorial, and some amazing clips on YouTube about all things basic training, Stella skipped the shopping portion of Zero Week at the Shoppette on base, having brought all the necessities from home.

  While her flight member gathered their basics, she quickly bought a notebook, pens, stamps, and envelopes then planted herself at a table where the TI indicated the trainees would gather when they finished shopping. Once seated in what was the equivalent of a food court in the on-base indoor mini-mall, she wrote a note to Nina and George so they would know how to reach her.

  She also sent a letter to Audrey, sharing more details and a bit of a scolding for having omitted the horrors of the first shower. Thankfully, after that first night, showers had been blissfully less crowded, with a mere two or three women per showerhead and more time and a little room to move as they went in shifts.

  Because no one was truly at ease being in a crowd of naked people, the recruits had some unspoken rules about decorum. The foremost rule seemed to be “no bending at the waist.” When shaving legs or picking up something from the floor, they either bent at the knee or put their backside by the wall to spare anyone getting an eyeful. Also, nobody touched or stared.

  It all seemed pretty obvious to Stella. Once she got used to the situation and over her insecurities about being nude among strangers, showers became a haven. It
was the one place they could carry on a casual conversation whereas the rest of the day was all about business and talking was prohibited.

  Communal showers? Bring it. Stella quickly learned she could handle a whole lot more than she’d ever thought possible.

  Chapter 6: “Detail”

  – Attention or treatment of a subject in individual or minute parts.

  – An assignment of particular duty.

  Audrey’s advice about which chores to avoid proved extremely helpful. She’d volunteered for pad duty, which entailed scrubbing bird droppings off the walls, support beams, and ground, then sweeping the large covered marching areas – where they formed up for marching and conducted some of their training.

  This job provided a token amount of time spent alone. Though it would seem like a gross job, Stella looked forward to those fifteen minutes outside each afternoon. Outside she could breathe a little and most TIs ignored work details unless the trainees misbehaved. Oddly, the job relaxed her. It was cool to see how the base settled somewhat during this time – with most flights tucked away in their dorms, fewer TIs prowled to catch trainees doing stupid things.

  The weather was gorgeous, and the sun shone brightly every day, a treat for Stella, especially after the usual nightmarish Chicago winter. Also, the enormous rabbits provided some entertainment. They looked like a rabbit and a donkey got frisky, and reminded Stella of the fabled jack-a-lopes. She shared this observation in her letter to Audrey as she sat in the Shoppette food court.

  During their first physical training session, or PT as it was called, Stella jogged with the pack and caught a glimpse of what had to be the most scrumptious man ever to walk the earth. She’d never seen a T-shirt filled quite so well. Since she ran mid-pack and was relatively short compared to the other women in her flight, all she saw was his profile then part of the back of him because others blocked her view.

  What little she spied was enough to stop and restart her heart. He was at least a head taller than most people there and solid muscle. If he was a recruit, he was in the latter stages of training because he had a regulation haircut, whereas all the guys she’d seen in her brother flight were in various stages of baldness from their in-processing scalping. The man’s hair was startlingly black where it was a little longer on top, and faded out on the sides to his neckline.

  She studied his profile and noted his strong jaw line and bent nose that clearly had been broken at least once. His thick neck stood strong atop his broad shoulders with enormous arms that were possibly as thick around as her thigh. In the blink of an eye he bolted from view, faster than any professional athlete she’d ever witnessed.

  Holy cow! She’d barely seen him, and had gone all mushy. It was just as well that he was gone. Stella scolded herself and muttered, “I need a man like I need another hole in my head.”

  “Boy, I heard that,” the trainee to her left drawled out in a thick Southern twang, then added, “but I wouldn’t kick that one outta my bed. My, my, my….” She shook her head as if to clear her mind.

  Stella giggled and replied quietly so they wouldn’t get into trouble for talking, “Sorry, I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.”

  “That’s fine. I’m with you, though. Last thing I need now is a man messin’ with my head.”

  “I’m Stella, by the way, Stella di Imbrogliado,” she said quietly.

  “Elaina Damaris. Where’re you from?”

  “Chicago. You?” Stella asked in a quiet and stilted manner since she was slightly winded from running.

  “Charlotte. So how come you’re sworn off men?”

  Stella let out a long breath. She really didn’t want to talk about her disastrous life.

  “That’s a long dramatic story. But the short of it is I’m getting a much-needed divorce.”

  “Good for you.”

  Stella cracked up. “Good for me?”

  “Hell yeah! You said it was needed, so good for you.” Elaina said with her own chuckle.

  “How ‘bout you? What’s your story?” Stella grinned at her new friend, noticing how tall and graceful she was. Her honey-blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail and freckles covered her face. She had a warm smile with gray-green eyes.

  “Nuthin’ crazy, just sick of dealin’ with other people’s bull,” Elaina said.

  “Can I ask, um...how old are you?” Stella asked, hoping she’d found a kindred spirit. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just well...everyone seems so young, and I’m twenty-six, I feel really old here.”

  “Psh, that’s nuthin’ – you’re in better shape than half the eighteen-year-olds here.” She waved her arm to dismiss the notion. “And for the record, I’m twenty-three.”

  “Oh thank God. I was so worried I’d be the only one over twenty-one here.” Stella giggled. “Crap, we better watch out. We’ll be in trouble for talking.”

  It was so nice to have a somewhat normal conversation. So far, the Air Force’s schedule left hardly any room for conversation. Every minute was taken up, and talking was prohibited after lights out.

  That day, as she attempted a chin-up and failed miserably, it became apparent that she’d need a whole lot more upper-body strength, or risk failing her PT test and get sent back to Chicago with her tail between her legs.

  The next eight weeks had to change her body as well as her life because retreat was no longer an option. That threat had her redoubling her redoubled efforts – running faster, doing more sit-ups and pushups whenever she had a free moment in the evenings, including occasionally sneaking to the end of her bed bay after lights out to eke out a few more sets.

  Stella’s friendship with Elaina grew into an easy companionship as they were quick to partner up for PT whenever they were able. During Friday’s PT session, their eyes spied a certain raven-haired Adonis. The sight stunned them into silence. The punishing pace they’d set that day meant a spot at the head of the pack, and afforded them their first real look at their favorite live-action fantasy man as he bolted past them.

  He ran past them so quickly it felt like they were holding still. They both gasped when they spotted his missing limb! He ran like the wind with a prosthetic leg – a metallic-looking contraption with a normal sneaker attached at the bottom. Unlike his other limb, it was stark and sleek, attaching just below his left knee in a black sleeve that encompassed his knee and thigh.

  Horrified, Stella immediately regretted her audible reaction. Had he heard her? She was in awe of the way he ran at break-neck speed, despite his injury. Well, that and the fact he’d bothered to remain in the service.

  She found herself, much to her surprise, exceptionally turned on – not only by his physical appearance, which was magnificent, but even more so by his obvious will to overcome the challenge of such an extreme injury.

  When she gathered her wits again and somehow managed to close her gaping jaw, she spared a glance at her friend to confirm she’d seen that too…that he was no mirage.

  “Sweet mother of God,” Elaina moaned, fanning herself.

  Stella giggled. Elaina took the words right out of her mouth.

  “That’s certainly not something you see every day.” Stella sighed. “Is it weird that I find him totally hot?”

  “If it’s weird, I don’t wanna be normal.” Elaina said.

  Like a scratch across a record, another conversation halted their bliss. A voice floated toward them from amidst the pack behind them “...I mean eww, that’s just disgusting. Can’t he, like, wear long pants or something? Why is he even here if he’s missing a body part?”

  The cruel words caused rage to burn hot in Stella gut. She growled and slowed her pace as she turned around, but continued her jogging backward, carefully, as she took in the source of the filth she overheard. She didn’t know the guy from Adam, but she couldn’t stand small-minded people who shot off their big mouths.

  “Hey! Hey, you! You...with the brown hair and the big mouth!” The girl looked at her, surprise evident on her face as Stella sna
pped her fingers at her. “Yeah, you...shut your ignorant trap! That man runs circles around all of us out here, and we have both feet. You don’t get to question his ability to wear a uniform or serve our country. Don’t you dare!”

  “Who asked you?” The brat sneered.

  “Wow. Seriously?” Stella snorted, still glancing over her shoulder to make sure she didn’t fall as she continued to jog backward, albeit very awkwardly. “You don’t even know him. He’s obviously been through hell. Grow up and show some damned respect.” She inserted as much venom in her words as she could and turned around to pick up her pace.

  As Stella turned, she nearly ran over one of the TIs leading them that day. With an inward eye roll she chastised herself. She really had to stop meeting TIs that way.

  “Is there a problem here, trainee?” he snarled at her.

  She stopped cold, snapped to attention, and saluted.

  “Sir, Trainee Imbrogliado reports as ordered. No, Sir. I was clearing up a miscommunication,” she replied, giving her reporting statement before speaking. It was a mouthful but rules were rules.

  The TI smirked at her then said, “Gimme a 341.”

  Darn it! Authority figures used Form 341, a small sheet of paper that trainees had to carry on them at all times, to report trainees for any matter they deemed worthy. If they demanded one, the trainee had to hand it over. Then the staff member returned the completed form to the trainee’s TI. She pulled one out of her pocket and presented it.