Exercise – First Person

Copyright © 2000 by Greg Anderson

From the days of the sopwith camel to the modern stealth fighter, pilots around the world say two words when things take a drastic turn for the worse. They are, ah shit.

This afternoon, I was in the ‘Q’, zipping up my flight suit. To confuse civilians, the military has a language all its own. 'Q' is an acronym for 'QAR', which is short for Quick Action Response. If the horn in the ‘Q’ sounds, my navigator/weapons officer and the other aircraft team have five minutes to be a thousand feet in the air.

Three other aviators and I were seated around a table in the lounge of the ‘Q’. Our confidence was only exceeded by our egos. There was ten dollars worth of chips sitting in the centre of the table and I searched the eyes of the others, looking for a clue as to what type of hand they may be holding. I was sitting with a full house, assured the pot would be sliding in my direction.

Pilots love to play games and I was no exception. I could care less about the money; it was losing that made me grit my teeth. Whether it was playing cards or dueling in war games, I hated to lose. Losing meant failure and for a fighter pilot, that often meant death.

In high school, I was the star quarterback and when we lost the championship game, I stood on the sidelines and cried. The school newspaper wrote that my tears were for the team, but in fact, they were for me. In contrast to losing on the sports field, my sex life was on the fast track and my conquests were legendary. Girls offered me things that no male teen could refuse. I may have been weak in morals, but I had tasted from the fountain of pleasure and my thirst could never be quenched. I was a cad; my motto was love 'em and leave 'em.

When I passed fighter pilot training, I began a life as a pampered member of the military. I'm not certain what women find attractive about a man in uniform, but I have reaped the rewards of that adulation.

However, arrogance and self-centeredness do have a price. I was shallow in spirit and although my bed was never empty, I was slowly dying of loneliness.

I never realized the depth of my loneliness until last night. At a mess dinner, I saw a lady whose smile lit up the room and her laughter rippled through my body. If I were granted one wish, it would be to always hear the melody of her happiness.

She was an angel. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders and rounded at the ends. For a moment, I thought they curled like fingers, inviting me closer. Her eyes sparkled like a diamond chandelier and when she looked at me the room became silent and time stood still. Something came over me that I cannot explain. I didn't want to take her to bed; my only desire was to get closer to her. She wasn’t another woman to conquer and use for my pleasure. She was flesh and blood with dreams and feelings. Until this moment, my only thoughts were of my satisfaction.

Suddenly I was gripped with fear, for with a little dip of her head, she was able to control the beat of my heart.

Did she see something in me, or was I just another pilot in a uniform? Could she see a part of me that I had never shown?

I walked towards her; my usual strut became awkward and tentative. I could see a light blue aura surrounding her and the edges were a sparkling white.

What would happen if I took her hand in mine? Would she pull away or would she honor me with her touch?

I stood before her, afraid that she would disappear like a morning’s mist.

The tips of her fingers grazed the golden wings above my breast pocket and traced down my arm to my fingers. Our fingers entwined and I was led through the French doors and onto the balcony. The night sky was black and a galaxy of stars began winking at us. Of all the stars in the sky, how was it possible to find the one that was meant for me?

The night carried a gentle breeze. The scent of roses and her perfume surrounded me. Her hand was so delicate and her fingers were smooth as silk. I raised her hand and kissed the tips of each finger. Each finger tasted sweeter than the other did. I closed my eyes and drifted to the stars as I drank the dew from the palm of her hand.

The tips of her fingers brushed over my eyebrows. I struggled to swallow and prayed that my next breath would come before I dropped to my knees. She circled her fingers around my eyes and caught a tear that dripped down my cheek. She tasted the tear and for a moment, I felt cleansed from the sins of my past.

Her touch on my lips was light as a butterfly. Each curvy line of her fingertip etched in my mind forever. I parted my lips and flicked my tongue gently over her skin, tasting her again. On my breath, I floated thoughts of my love for her. My reward was a glimmer in her eye that I knew would only shine for me.

I tilted her head and my eyes searched to the depths of her soul. "Who are you?" I asked.

Before she could answer the horn wailed through the room. We dashed through the hallway and slipped on our helmets. The doors slid open as we climbed the ladder and the ground crew strapped us into our cockpits. Switches were flicked in moves that I had practiced a thousand times. The smell of rubber flowed into my lungs as I snapped on the breathing apparatus. The lights on the panel flashed a brilliant orange and the vibration of the jet engines shook the very depths of my body.

I was the lead aircraft today and we taxied in a pair down the runaway. I punched in the afterburners and the twin engines hurled us down the runway. The only greater thrill was to be catapulted off an aircraft carrier. My head and back were pressed to the seat and I pulled on the stick, shooting like a missile into the air.

The game was on. A game of cat and mouse with a Russian bear transport. Three times a week they flew from Moscow, past Iceland and towards our border. Their final destination was Cuba, but they liked to probe our defenses to see how quick we would react. Normally, we flew close to them, snapped a few pictures and gave the one finger salute. Of course, they replied in kind.

I pressed the long-range radar button and instead of one dot, there were three. "Black Hawk Two, this is Black Hawk One. Our bear has a fighter escort, close in on me."

Blawk Hawk Two was wing to wing with me and we kicked in the burners, streaking towards the three dots. Straying into Canadian airspace with a transport to test our defense was one thing, but to do so with fighters was not playing by the rules. This raised the level of the game. There were no limits to the betting, for this was life and death.

I adjusted the radio frequency. "This is Captain Rogers of the Canadian Air Force. AFT Two Zero, you have entered Canadian airspace without permission. Request you turn on a heading of one twenty degrees immediately. Do you copy?"

"We are having problems with our nav systems and apologize."

Yeah right and I have a bridge to sell, I thought.

The three dots banked left and we followed a mile behind them. A warning buzzer sounded, one of the enemy fighters had armed a missile. "Black Hawk Two, do you read missile hot…repeat, do you read missile hot?"

"Blawk Hawk Two to Leader, negative…repeat, negative."

I have a love/hate relationship with technology. I delight in playing video games, where my hands and eyes test the speed at which my brain reacts. At other times, I despise the technical marvel I am strapped to, because computer chips and the miles and miles of wiring can be so damn finicky.

Another warning buzzer sounded. "Missile fired. Break right." As we broke right in unison, I saw on radar the dotted trail of the missile heading towards us.

"Black Hawk One. There is nothing on my radar."

The intermittent sound became steady, indicating a lock-on. A quick touch of my hand on the stick brought the craft into a steep left turn. At that instant, my weapons officer dropped a flare and we were buffeted by the shock of the exploding missile.

"Black Hawk Two. Arm missiles."

"Weapon systems are down, will cover with guns."

"Negative. Return to base."

I performed twists, turns, rolls and climbs. All to avoid dots on the screen that were moving ten times faster than I was and whose only goal was to knock me out of the sky. After an eternity, which in reality was twenty seconds, I locked onto my target and my air-to-air missile streaked like a greyhound to its foe. A bright flash in the distance and the disappearance of a red dot told of my victory.

I cursed at another warning buzzer. Its purpose was to help, but I found it incredibly annoying. More flares were dropped and the g forces threw me back as I turned hard left. I felt a gut-wrenching explosion behind me as I came out of the turn. My control stick no longer reacted to my touch and the fire and smoke indicators flashed. I yelled, "Eject, eject."

The canopy did not fly off and I turned back to see the blood of my partner smeared over the glass. I reached between my legs and pulled; ready to feel the explosion that would hurl me into the sky. However, nothing happened. I was a useless passenger in a hunk of metal that was spinning out of control.

Looking outside, the stars whorled like a tornado as I plummeted towards the north Atlantic. To nobody but myself, I said. Ah shit.

I didn't say ah shit for my impending death, nor did I say ah shit for the angel that came into my life; I said, ah shit, for the shallowness of my youth and the pain I had caused others. As blackness captured me, my wish came true and the sound of my angel's laughter played in my ears.