“Love you,” he said, quietly, so that nobody could hear.
“You too,” said Joe, grinning. “Safe travels, and get yourself back here soon!”
Greg got back into his plane and traced the outline of the photograph of his sister and mother that somebody had hung back up in his place. Somebody else had been using the plane while he was out in the detox program, but he now had a new piece of tape on it, so he knew somebody had realized how important it was. He waved down to Joe before putting on his helmet and lowering the glass canopy. The familiar motions of taxiing and lining up to take off came to him mechanically, but with more serenity than usual.
But as he took off into the air, that rush was still there, and Greg thanked every god known to mankind that he was still a pilot. He felt a rush of profound gratitude to Colonel Burns for giving him another chance, and to Joe for both helping with that chance, and, well, being one of the best boyfriends that Greg had ever had.
Of course, none of that lasted very long.
“You’re grounded,” was the first thing that Schultz had said to him in person when Greg arrived on the base.
“What?”
“Until the training exercise, orders from on high,” said Schultz. “It’s okay, you can have my cushy office and I’ll take your plane for a bit.”
“That’s so unfair!” protested Greg. He wanted to go back to Japan and see Joe as often as he could.
“Well, don’t shoot the messenger,” said Schultz wryly.
“I just… met somebody in Japan is all.” said Greg.
“Well, I’m sure that the cute Japanese girls can wait,” said Schultz. “For now, you gotta file papers.”
“I’ve been filing papers and writing papers and drafting letters for almost two months now,” said Greg, grumpily.
“Don’t you see?” asked Schultz, impatiently, “Colonel Burns is practically grooming you for command. He wants you to have his position. I don’t know why he’s making all these decisions for you, but command above is getting a little bit pissed off with his designs on you.”
“I like him.”
“Me too, he’s a funny old guy,” said Schultz. “So, anyways, what’s new?”
Without telling Schultz about Joe wasn’t much to tell, but he did the best he could.
“Boring, really, but I guess the noodles sounded good,” said Schultz. “I would have probably stayed on base sleeping when I could.”
“I like to absorb myself in culture,” said Greg, with the best pompous air he could muster.
“Get out,” said Schultz, laughing.
As soon as Greg had the office to himself, he figured he’d call Joe. Joe was probably not working right now, since the ADAPT program had just ended, and his shift in the psych ward didn’t start til two in the afternoon. Still, Greg got an answering machine.
“Hey there,” said Greg, doing his best not to allow the desperation to see his lover and the dripping gooey love in his heart to saturate the message in case it was intercepted.
“I’m home, and will be home for a bit. Please call me, friend, I miss you.”
He put down the phone and sighed, deeply. How on earth was he going to get through these next months without Joe? More importantly, if he had to, how could he ensure that Joe wouldn’t leave him? These questions were rattling around in his mind as he sat in the office and started sorting stacks of papers and figuring out how to use the shredding machine. Noon came with him holding the phone in his hands again, after having fallen asleep during an earlier attempt to contact Joe.
“This shouldn’t be so difficult,” he exclaimed.
Greg was getting bored again in his office, filing papers, directing and supervising air traffic control, and moping around waiting for stuff to happen so he could actually have something useful to do. In the back of his mind, every single day without speaking to Joe felt like an eternity.
Eventually, one deals, and moves on. Joe had disappeared right after Greg left Japan, and all Colonel Burns would tell him was that Joe hadn’t been eating breakfast for a few days, and then asked for a yearlong medical leave and fled the base as soon as they said ‘pack your bags’. As to where Joe was, though, Burns wouldn’t say.
“I don’t know, but if I was, I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you,” Burns quipped. That answer made Greg angry, but he understood the need for patient confidentiality in this setting. Greg said his goodbyes quickly and hung up the phone before he could embarrass himself further in front of Burns.
He was flying every day at least, just short maneuver practices and stuff, so it wasn’t as hard as running or biking or something that tires you out. He was preparing intensively for his training exercise. Everybody would be watching America as it adopted its new measures.
“You feeling good about this?” asked Schultz, one night over dinner in the mess hall.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Greg, pushing food around on his plate.
“I’m on the flight team, too,” said Schultz. “I got the Colonel to pull some favors.”
“Colonel Denver?” asked Greg. Colonel Denver, the commanding officer of the Fairbanks base.
“No, no,” said Schultz, grinning. “Burns.”
“What does Burns have to do in the training exercises?” asked Greg, with his fork halfway between his plate and his mouth.
“Senior planning and strategy,” said Schultz. “I’ve switched out with Tanner; I’ve got your right flank now.”
“Fuck.” said Greg. “That moves me into Fitz’s position if I’ve somebody on my right.”
“Everybody gets switched, yeah,” said Schultz, “but I think it’ll go well. Flying in formation sucks, whatever your position.”
“You know I hate flying in the center,” said Greg. “Formation is dangerous anyways. One tip to the left or the right and the entire shebang is a crush of metal and wheels.”
“We know who isn’t trying out for the Thunderbirds, then,” said Schultz.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Greg, shoveling the rest of his chow into his mouth.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m needed in admin in a few minutes,” said Greg, “but I have a little bit of time.”
“You’re trying to find your buddy Joe, aren’t you?” asked Schultz. “Leave the poor bastard alone. It’s not like you even knew him for very long.”
“He was a good nurse, damn it. He changed my life.” “I don’t understand your preoccupation with him, anyways. It’s not like you had a serious drinking program, you were just kept there probably as an excuse for Burns to play favorites.”
“I don’t like you talking like that, Schultz,” said Greg. “That’s dangerous. And untrue.”
“Well, you know best,” said Schultz, rising and walking over to the end of the mess hall to clear his plate.
“Listen, Schultz, we’re battle buddies. Brothers. I don’t like fighting with you like this. You know I’d be trying to track you down if you disappeared into the clear wide blue.”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” said Schultz. “Sounds gay to me.”
“Dude, that’s really out of line,” said Greg, laughing. “Me?”
“Forget it,” said Schultz. “I’m sorry.”
“That was rude,” said Greg, “but I get it. I’ve been acting off, lately. It’s all good.”
Greg started walking off along the hall, and Schultz walked after him.
“But uh, Greg?” he asked.
“What?”
“Are you?”
“Shut up.”
“I was just wondering—“
“If I was, you’d be destroying my career by asking this,” said Greg, laughing. “Do you wanna do that to somebody?”
Schultz stopped.
“You’re right, Polar Bear,” he said. “I’m sorry again.”
“Apology accepted, and yes,” said Greg, quickly, before striding off down the hallway. He left Schultz to ponder his yes. It wasn’t coming out, not really. Nothing could be used against him
. And Schultz wasn’t going to tear him down like that, not really. Burns hadn’t, and Schultz certainly wouldn’t break him. Or he didn’t think so. It would have been nice if he could have just gotten all this off his chest to somebody. The life of secrecy he had been forced to lead was really, really difficult. If he wasn’t a pilot at heart, getting his thrills from the air, he would have had no qualms about quitting the service and living openly whatever way he could. It wasn’t as if he had any other professional skills, however. Perhaps he could be an airline pilot, but that would go from just flying for himself to fly for others, carting around hundreds of people instead of just one in his metal bird. He groaned. There was no easy answer.
Finally, the first day of the exercise rolled around and Greg walked out to his plane. They would be flying north to south down the eastern coasts of Japan and Russia, a formation of fighters. They’d take off from Alaska, buzz the coasts, and then either land in Tokyo or Alaska again, weather and fuel permitting. It was a nasty blustery day outside, but, as the General said, there were no breaks for weather in war. And in this war game, the same would seem to ring true. This was only the first in a two week stretch of joint training exercises with the Air Force and the Navy.
“You ready, man?” asked Schultz, as they stood waiting for their briefing.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Greg muttered. He and the mechanics had personally just run up his plane, checking every surface and every system before he took to the air. As the old pilot saying goes, “takeoff is optional, but landing is mandatory”. He would have to take his bird out, across the ocean, down the East Asian coast, and back. He shuddered. Greg was definitely glad that this was only a training exercise. A flyby was bad enough in this weather, but incorporating a fight into this would make it even more like hell on earth. He wasn’t sure why exactly he had been pleased that Burns had pulled some strings to get him in the exercise.
Greg and Schultz stood still throughout the lengthy last briefing, both men thinking about different things. Greg was thinking about Joe Walsh, the nurse he had hooked up with many months ago, now. It was more than a hookup, though. He had made a connection with the nurse. It hurt him to think about the other man. He surreptitiously moved his hand from behind his back to touch his pocket for a second. He had a small picture of him and Joe together that they had taken back in their bunk room with his Polaroid camera. He smiled slightly. That would be joining the picture of his mother and sister on the dashboard of his fighter plane.
It was very odd, and rather hurtful that Joe wasn’t contacting him. Maybe somebody had suspected he was gay, and he ran. Or perhaps… Greg didn’t want to think about it. Maybe there was something desperately wrong with Joe, something he didn’t know. Maybe a patient in the psych ward had done something to upset him, maybe he ran off because he couldn’t handle the stress and strain of military life anymore. Greg shuddered slightly where he stood.
“Kramer?” asked Schultz, under his breath.
“Cold, that’s all,” said Greg. And it was true. It was freezing in the hangar. Finally, the exhaustive briefing was over. Of course, they already knew all they had to. They had literally been training for this for months, until Greg could recite every maneuver, every co-ordinate of the flight plan in his sleep. But still, his heart was racing over the pacific, across to Japan where last he had seen Joe. Even though Joe had apparently been stateside for some time, he was still pining for the man who had stolen his heart.
“Well, this is it, mate,” said Schultz.
“You’re acting like one of those ridiculous sidekicks in an action movie, like I’ll never see you again or something. This is a fucking drill, Schultz, not a dogfight.”
“I know, I know,” he said, disdainfully. “I just don’t like this, is all. Look at the sky, it’s so dark. And there’s a major weather system coming in.”
“If the Ruskies do ever attack, weather system or not, we’ve got to be able to stop them,” countered Greg. “Don’t over think it. If command thought it was worrisome, they’d have pulled us out by now. Our planes literally cost millions of dollars; they can’t afford to lose them. And, well, by extension, us.”
“Some reassurance.”
“Come on,” said Greg, “We’re going to be fine. See you when we land.”
“Tokyo?”
“Hopefully. I have a bone to pick with Colonel Burns.”
“If we do land, we will probably just be refueling and taking off.”
“I’ll get in the back of the line, then,” said Greg.
“Kramer, Schultz! To your planes!” shouted Colonel Denver.
“Yes, sir!” they shouted in unison, and Greg took off running across the tarmac, Schultz following behind him. It was like Academy days, only this was a real training exercise that was actually off Russia, not just pretending in the Rocky Mountains.
Greg leapt into his plane, pulled the canopy down, and secured his helmet and mask. “Polar Bear, standing by. Ground control, do you copy?”
“Ground control to Polar Bear, we hear you loud and clear. Stand by for takeoff.”
“Banjo, standing by,” came a voice over the radio. Greg grinned. That was Schultz. Everybody was starting to taxi out to the runway, following the ground marshals waving their orange cone shaped wands to direct them into position. He pulled up in the middle of the line, since he would be flying center in formation. He groaned. Center was the absolute worst, and everybody knew it. Not only was it dangerous if anybody veered off course, but if the plane in front of him slowed down, he would get caught in their jet wash. Anybody who had ever watched Top Gun knew that was a bad, bad thing.
“This is Red Rocket to Polar Bear, Red Rocket to Polar Bear. Clear for takeoff, Polar Bear,” called a voice on the radio from the sky.
“This is air traffic control, repeat, Polar Bear clear for takeoff,” sounded an unfamiliar voice from the control tower. It was weird flying with Schultz, instead of him giving the directions. Greg kissed his fingertips, or tried to through his mask, and traced them along the pictures of his family and of Joe.
“Banjo to Polar Bear, get your ass moving, I’m after you.” Schultz said, over the radio.
“Polar Bear, taking off,” said Greg, snapping back to the task at hand. He did one last check of all of the instruments to make sure everything was in order, that the fuel mixture was rich and that the engine had the right number of rotations per minute, and then he accelerated, pulling back into the joystick and feeling the familiar lurch in the pit of his stomach as the plane sped into the air. As soon as they were all in the sky, the group of fighter pilots slowed or sped up until they were flying in formation.
“Red Rocket to group, Red Rocket to group, I want a sandwich,” said the person in front of Greg in formation.
“Polar Bear to Rocket, this is a training exercise, fuck off.” said Greg, grinning. These were all academy or ROTC boys. They knew how it was. It took a lot banter and a lot of humor to make it through the service, which is what Red Rocket was trying to do right now in his own questionable way. It did get lonely without people to talk to, that’s for sure. He remembered training in a T-38, flying in complete silence and feeling like he had to scream to fill up the silence.
Flying up and across to Russia was easy. The weather systems started hitting them hard on the flight down the coast. What was earlier just a light drizzle had turned into thunder, lighting, and strong winds gusting over 100 miles per hour.
“Banjo, watch your drifting ass!” shouted Greg over the radio to Schultz, who was flying dangerously close to him on his right.
“I’m sorry, Bear, I’m trying, the winds are just really getting me.”
“Everybody space out, open formation,” said Red Rocket, who was flying point.
“Roger that, Red Rocket,” said Greg. He kept his plane at the same speed, while the planes in front increased speed and the planes in the line behind him dropped behind. Planes flying in the flank turned out sideways 45 degrees, and then back i
n straight when they got far enough away. Except, it didn’t seem that Schultz had control of his plane anymore.
“Banjo, Banjo, what’s going on?” asked Greg, his hands in a death grip on the joystick as he tried to use his peripheral vision to gauge what was going on.
“Engine trouble," said Schultz, “I can’t get the power to head directly into this wind.
“Fuck, the wind is on his side. Rocket, what if the right flank didn’t do a 45?”
“We gotta open up,” said Red Rocket.
“I’m drifting,” shouted Schultz, panicked.
Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance Page 109